


right here tonight.

by katified



Series: new design. [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ...maybe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War Fix-It, Gen, Identity Reveal, Light Angst, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Secret Identity, but nothing too serious, depends on your definition of serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-05-16 04:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19311109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katified/pseuds/katified
Summary: Clint snorted. “He’s definitely not an intern.”“It’s as weird as it sounds,” Rhodey agreed, and Steve wondered if he’d met the kid before. Maybe in passing, since Tony didn’t seem intent on formally introducing Peter to everyone.“Maybe he’s a spy,” Natasha suggested, quirking an eyebrow. “Or an alien.”“I can at least hope he’s normal,” Sam muttered as he went to make coffee and breakfast. “God knows we don’t need anything else crazy going on.”Peter seemed normal enough to Steve; however, it’d been over seventy years since he had much experience with normal, so maybe he wasn’t the best judge of that.***After coming to terms with the fact that he advocated for regulation only to turn around and sponsor a certain vigilante, Tony decides to make things right by pushing for revisions to the Accords. Peter is thrilled but unsure whether or not he wants the Avengers to know his secret identity, ultimately deciding to keep it under wraps—which is unfortunately easier said than done.





	1. no more secrets.

“So the Accords—what would be your thoughts on an appeal?”

Peter’s hands stilled at what he suspected to be a trick question; after all, it wasn’t exactly his place to comment, and Tony had never asked for his opinion on the matter before. When the billionaire asked for his help in Berlin, he’d been rather vague about the whole thing while the teen was often too busy with school and patrolling to pay _much_ attention to the news. For the most part, he’d just been excited to be included.

Since then, it’d occurred to him that he—a vigilante—fought for the side encouraging stricter rules and accountability. It then occurred to him that, well, the Accords’ main backer among the Avengers had been sponsoring a vigilante.

It didn’t really add up. But he never mentioned it.

“You… want to repeal the Accords?” he asked, hesitant. It seemed scandalous, like something they shouldn’t be talking about, and he glanced around the lab as though wary that someone unseen might be listening in.

Tony didn’t look up from whatever gadget he was tinkering with. “More like revise. I’ve been thinking about it, and it could—use some improvements. A clause here, tweak there.”

When he thought more about it, Peter realized that if he’d made an informed decision, he likely would have sided with Captain America, since he couldn’t exactly keep up his whole _looking out for the little guy_ thing with so many rules and regulations in the way. He did, however, think that some accountability was important, so maybe he leaned most towards a compromise between the two sides. That was how he’d been hoping things would end—that the two sides would settle their differences by talking.

That was not how it ended.

“I—” Peter just hoped he wouldn’t be betraying his mentor’s trust by saying so. It’d been less than a year since the Accords passed—only six or seven months—and the fight over it may still be fresh in Tony’s mind. He didn’t want to rub any metaphorical salt over his wounds, but if Tony wanted his opinion, then shouldn’t he give it? “I mean, well, I think it’d be good. Accountability is one thing, but flexibility…” With a vague gesture, he trailed off.

“…is also important,” Tony finished, nodding to himself.

They lapsed into silence, and Peter returned to his homework. Boring, stuff he already knew, and far more difficult to focus on now that a gazillion different thoughts were rushing through his head. He wouldn’t pretend to understand all the politics behind it, but he found himself excited at the thought of Iron Man and Captain America coming together to discuss a compromise instead of fighting forever.

Or would it be a compromise between them and whoever else had authority? Well.

“Would an appeal mean…” the teen cleared his throat, “pardons? For the rogue Avengers.”

“That would be a part of it, yes.”

_Cool._

***

For the next two weeks, Peter had an extra skip in his step. It only increased when his enhanced hearing caught Captain America’s voice on the other line of Tony’s phone before the billionaire shooed him out of the room—however strained their conversation was, Peter found himself happy that at least they could start working through that tension and rebuild. In his mind, if the Avengers all worked together, they could accomplish anything.

His excitement faltered when Tony posed a question. “Are you going to tell them about Spider-man?”

Honestly, Peter hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might meet them to begin with, let alone mention his secret identity. “Um, well.” He scribbled down a few answers on his homework, then glanced back at the hidden sheet of web formulas under his textbook, then cleared his throat. “Well, I mean, I don’t know. Are you?”

Tony snorted, shooting him a look. “It’s not _my_ secret identity, kid. Whether or not they know is up to you.”

Within a matter of seconds, Peter came up with a list of at least ten pros and cons, some more important and some more trivial. Biting his bottom lip, he debated back and forth until the words, _“I was the only one who believed in you. Everyone else thought I was crazy for recruiting a fourteen-year-old kid,”_ popped into his head. He frowned—they still stung, though he wouldn’t admit it—and shrugged. “I guess—I figure—that the fewer people who know about my secret identity, the better?”

“Uh huh.” The billionaire didn’t seem convinced, but the teen wondered if that was because he’d stopped paying full attention to the conversation. His tone sounded distant as he worked on upgrading one of his suits. “Whatever you decide, it’s your choice. You have no obligation to tell them.”

Right, because he’d turned down the offer to join the team, which he’d later learned had in fact _not_ been a test. But in the end, if he didn’t have much interaction with the Avengers, did it really matter?

***

Tony, both as a billionaire and superhero, had a lot of influence, and when he wanted something done, he put his all into it. While he realized his hypocrisy regarding the Accords and Peter months ago, it was only on a whim weeks ago that he forced himself to pick up the phone and call Steve Rogers, and since then, they’d been talking compromises and revisions and how to go about their appeal. Their conversations held an underlying tension, but Tony held back from picking any fights—miraculously.

Whether or not that willpower would last upon seeing the soldier’s face in person was anyone’s guess.

After several weeks of mature debate with the appropriate parties, Tony was certain that they’d built solid ground to stand on, and at the very least, they managed to secure pardons for the rogues. Whether or not they wanted to rejoin the team was a different matter, and he left Steve to the job of contacting them while he continued to fight for their agreed-upon revisions.

Instead of working on inventions and fun stuff, he often had his head full of legal jargon when Peter came around the lab. For the first couple weeks, the kid seemed beyond ecstatic about the whole thing, but nerves now appeared to accompany that excitement. Sighing, Tony hoped that his question on the secret identity matter didn’t trouble him too much; he’d merely been curious about it, though it’d be a lie to say he wasn't relieved that the kid didn’t seem intent on spilling the beans. He could only imagine the lecture he would receive from Captain Morals about the fact that he brought a child to a battlefield.

It was inevitable, he knew. Even if Peter’s identity didn’t come to light until he joined the team at a reasonable age, that didn’t change anything, and he knew that any defense of his actions would just sound like an excuse. And sure, maybe a part of Tony regretted dragging the kid to Berlin—that hadn’t been his fight—but he sure as hell didn’t regret monitoring and supporting him afterwards. The kid would be Spider-manning it up with or without anyone’s input, and it was better for him to be safer while doing it and have someone he could call for help.

The selfish part of Tony hoped that Peter didn’t say anything. An even more selfish part wanted to keep him away from the Avengers altogether for the time being, but there was only so much he could do to stop anyone from, say, walking into the lab while Peter worked on his homework or some project. If Peter _asked_ to meet them, Tony had no real reason to say no. Aside from maybe petty reasons.

Tomorrow would be his first face-to-face encounter with Steve in several months. Dismissing a hologram, Tony turned to look at Peter. “Kid, are you staying at the Compound this weekend?”

They had somewhat of a schedule. Roughly every couple weeks, Peter would come after school on Friday and stay until Sunday night, and when he didn’t, he came in on a couple weekdays to spend the evening. The fact that Peter was currently there on a Thursday should’ve given Tony the answer, but he honestly didn’t know what day it was—not after all the tiring legal nonsense. For all he knew, it was already Friday.

“No? I think I’m coming tomorrow afternoon, but I’m not staying. There’s a Decathlon meeting on Saturday.”

Tony nodded. “Alright. You might have the lab to yourself though since I’ve got,” he made a vague gesture, “other stuff to do.”

Peter returned the nod, apparently fine with this development, and they lapsed into silence once more as they went back to their respective work.

Tomorrow would be _fun_.

***

The morning and afternoon passed by in a blur of conferences and debate, and while Tony wouldn’t say he avoided Steve, they didn’t have much time for any proper greetings—in part due to the billionaire’s willingness to let someone drag him away whenever they almost got the chance for it. But when the meetings ended and Steve approached him with a non-negotiable, “We should talk,” Tony resigned to his fate and led them to a scarcely used room at the Compound.

The walk was silent, tension heavy in the air, and only as he closed the glass door behind them did Tony begin to speak. “You know, as a responsible adult, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I might’ve made a slight miscalculation regarding—well.”

“Might’ve?” Steve turned to him with raised eyebrows. Despite his words, his tone held little bite, more weary than anything. “Endangering the personal freedom of any enhanced individual and turning the Avengers into government lapdogs is a slight miscalculation?”

Tony could already feel his willpower to avoid a fight start to wither. _Ego depletion_ —or something like that. After spending half the day resisting the urge to make snappish comments towards others, he now found it more difficult to do the same for Steve. “I made a mistake, and I wanted to take responsibility. We could’ve talked about this months ago, but—”

“But no one cared about the truth,” the captain cut in.

“You didn’t exactly do a great job defending it.”

Steve sighed, arms crossing over his chest. “I wouldn’t say that either of us were entirely right or wrong,” he said, slow as though he was considering his words carefully. “We both made mistakes, but we can learn from them. Moving forward, there shouldn’t be any secrets between us, alright?”

“Secrets like… the fact that your friend killed my parents, and you didn’t tell me? I think I have a right to be a little upset about that.” Tony leaned his hip against a table. If there shouldn’t be any secrets, then why not clear the air now?

“Hydra killed your parents.” It sounded like a practiced counterpoint, but the billionaire wouldn’t point that out and merely rolled his eyes at the comment. “Likewise, I feel I have the right to question it when instead of spending five minutes investigating the truth behind the bombing, the authorities decide to execute someone without giving him the chance for a proper trial.”

Tony held up his hands placatingly; after all, he didn’t exactly disagree with that, and maybe that common ground would be useful. “How’s Barnes doing in Wakanda anyway?” Unfortunately, his weariness made the somewhat genuine question sound more snarky than intended, his distaste for the man in question coloring his tone.

“Better. They’ve been making progress, at least enough that they’re confident he can’t be—triggered again.”

 _No more killing anyone else’s parents again, then? And no more keeping secrets about it?_ The words died on Tony’s tongue. It’d take awhile to pick up the pieces of their broken friendship, he knew—they couldn’t just rebuild trust overnight, and he sometimes doubted they’d ever get it back—but this could be a good start. He ran a hand over his face, heaving a sigh. “No more secrets, Rogers.”

“No more secrets,” Steve swore, lips pressed into a grim line.

Peter popped into Tony’s mind—and speak of the devil. He frowned as he saw someone approach from behind Steve, and the teenager stopped in his tracks, possibly realizing that he was interrupting something. Before Tony could subtly shoo him away, Steve turned and caught sight of him, then raised a questioning eyebrow at the billionaire. “He’s an intern,” Tony explained before asking the ceiling, “FRIDAY, why is he here?”

 **“He asked where you were,”** the AI promptly explained.

Great. Tony suspected that the kid would meet the team eventually, but he didn’t think it’d be this soon; it probably went against the whole _no more secrets_ thing if he tried to dismiss the teen’s presence now. “New protocol—next time Cap and I are having a private discussion, please tell the kid to just wait in the lab instead of telling him where I am.”

**“Yes, boss.”**

Steve kept glancing between the two of them, and Peter gestured behind him as though to ask if he should leave. Biting back a sigh, Tony waved the kid over. “He’s young,” he said to Steve as Peter approached, “but he’s a smart kid. Top of his class at a school for gifted kids. Most of the time, he can keep up with me and Bruce when we’re talking science.” Peter entered the room, and based on his sheepish blush, Tony figured that he heard. (Well, given the whole enhanced senses thing, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the kid heard.) “Cap, meet Peter. Peter, Captain America.”

Though obviously excited, Peter didn’t seem quite sure of what to say to Captain America himself, and he glanced over at Tony. “I, uh—I’m sorry if I was… interrupting, but—I heard you were finished with your meeting, and I thought…” He trailed off with a shrug.

Tony snorted. “I tell you that you can have a lab full of multi-million dollar equipment to yourself for the afternoon, and you still come looking for me the first chance you get? If I were you, I’d be having a field day right about now.”

Peter bit his lip, shifting his weight, and Steve decided to interrupt. “It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” he said with his signature smile as he held his hand out for a shake, which the kid eagerly accepted. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Peter Parker.”

“So kid, what did you come over for?” Tony crossed his arms over his chest, but maybe the interruption wasn’t entirely unwelcome. The less time he and Steve spent alone, the less likely they were to devolve into an argument—at least until the tension dissolved a little more.

“Homework got boring,” the teen admitted, fiddling with the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder. At a look from Steve, he promptly jumped to his own defense. “I-I mean, just ‘cause I already know the material and all. It’s—tedious. And, uh,” he glanced back towards Tony, “I’m hungry too.”

That was all the invitation Tony needed. “Are we done here, Cap? If there’s nothing else we need to discuss, I’ll be treating my intern to dinner.”

Steve nodded, and though Tony could practically see the hundred questions rattling around in his head, none of them came. “Right. I’ll see you around then.”

“Uh, right.” Peter shifted again. “It’s nice meeting you, Captain Rogers.”

Tony offered his own flippant farewell as he looped an arm around the kid’s shoulders and guided him out of the Compound and towards dinner. Later, he tried not to feel guilty when Peter admitted that he just wanted to make sure Tony was doing alright.

***

It was another two weeks before Steve saw Peter again. He walked over to Tony’s lab to update him on his communications with the other rogues, only to see the teenager sitting at the desk alone, flipping between homework and some side project, and though he’d been quiet in his approach—an old habit—Peter glanced up anyway, meekly at first before he straightened himself out.

Steve cracked a smile at the sight. If he weren’t so drained by the whole appeal situation, he might’ve laughed. “How’ve you been?” he asked as he entered the room. Since his security clearance still allowed him to, he didn’t see any harm in having a quick chat, though he still lingered by the doorway.

“Fine, good.” Peter cleared his throat, not-so-discreetly stashing his side project somewhere out of view. “How’s… everything?”

“Good.” Steve felt confident that they’d get their way in the appeal overall, maybe with a little compromising; he and Tony spent weeks coming up with something sound and defensible, after all, rather than the Accords that always struck him as thrown together too hastily. And if not hastily, then not with the best intentions. “Homework still boring you?”

Peter smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. No. I mean, it’s chemistry, which is great, but it’s, uh, not as interesting as,” he gestured, “other chemistry projects. But Mr. Stark told me that I have to finish my homework before working on anything else, so…”

If only because he knew he wouldn’t understand any of it, Steve asked no questions about the chemistry. “He’s right, you know. Doing your homework is important.” Peter shot him an exasperated look, and the soldier found himself thinking it ironic that Tony ended up with an apparently rebellious intern. He questioned why Tony had an intern to begin with, but it probably wasn’t his place to ask. That didn’t stop his curiosity, though. “How old are you, son?”

“Fifteen.” Peter _almost_ sounded like he was admitting to a scandalous secret, and that _did_ make Steve chuckle.

“Fifteen,” the soldier repeated. “I remember that age.” Before he could reminisce too much, he recalled why he’d come all the way down here. “Where’s Tony?”

The teen pointed down the hall. “He stepped out to take a call. He, uh, shouldn’t be out too long? I don’t know what they’re talking about though.”

Steve could venture a guess. “Alright, I’ll stop by later, then. Finish your homework.”

Peter saluted him as he turned to leave. Maybe a refreshing jog around the Compound would do him some good.

***

“I don’t think I’ll say anything,” Peter decided.

As though intentionally confirming his suspicions that Tony fell asleep in his chair after hours of phone calls and absentminded tinkering, the billionaire jerked awake at the comment. “What? Oh, cool. Like I said, it’s entirely your choice.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you for reading this thing I wrote on a whim! This is my first time writing anything in this fandom, and I'm taking a few creative liberties; I'll mention anything important as it becomes necessary.


	2. maybe he's a spy. or an alien.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a certified old man.  
> Tony Stark doesn't do normal.

The last thing Steve expected to see when he woke up that morning was a teenager sleeping on one of the common room’s couches. Well, he supposed it was more midway down the list rather than at the very bottom, but it still took him a moment to register that yes, the kid was Peter, and yes, he was in fact there, dead asleep with headphones in his ears. Steve could hear the soft hum of music escaping them as he stepped closer.

Ultimately, he didn’t put much thought into it before finding a blanket to place over him, since he didn’t have one. The teen squirmed a bit when the soldier tucked him in, and he mumbled something incoherent under his breath—of which the only word Steve could pick out was _Ben_ —before falling back asleep, and Steve went about his routine of taking a jog as the sun came up.

For the most part, everything was still uncertain; all the rogues—though the term didn’t exactly apply anymore—had rooms at the Compound, but most of them came and went, and some had yet to come at all, given they weren’t sure if there would be a reformed team. Sure, they were all pardoned, but the revisions had yet to pass. It made sense that not everyone would be keen on being friendly when nothing had been officially put in place.

But the point of his run was to relax, not work himself up, so Steve pushed those thoughts out of his mind and focused on the fresh air filling his lungs and his feet pounding against the pavement. Those sensations were more concrete, more certain—and comforting.

He returned to the common room upon finishing but stopped on the way to the attached kitchen. Peter hadn’t moved aside from snuggling into the blanket more, and Natasha, Sam, and Clint were there too, staring at him in silent question. Natasha stood near the end of the couch, Sam behind the back of it, and Clint perched himself on the back of the opposite couch. Steve raised an eyebrow before walking to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water, returning to the scene a moment later.

“He’s Tony’s intern,” the soldier explained when Natasha turned her gaze towards him. He kept his voice low in an attempt to not wake the teen.

Sam asked a fantastic question. “Why is he sleeping on the couch?”

To that, Steve could only shrug. He wondered if Peter slept over at the Compound often, but in that case, shouldn’t he have his own room? Perhaps not a customized one like the Avengers did—there were, however, plenty of places to put a bed. And he had to question why Peter had access to the _Avengers’_ common room to begin with. Granted, he didn’t know if interns had their own area, either, or if Tony _had_ interns besides Peter.

The sounds of conversation drew their attention to the entrance as Tony and Rhodey walked in, and upon the kid on the couch, Tony let out a soft huff and approached him without hesitation. When the billionaire pulled out one of his headphones, Peter startled awake, sitting upright and whipping his head around to see everyone watching him. “You know you have a room, right?” Tony asked, quirking his eyebrows.

Peter detangled himself from the blanket—not without giving it a confused frown—as his cheeks turned pink. “Y-yeah, I mean—I didn’t, uh…” He scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket, pause his music, and took off his headphones. After surveying everyone around him, he settled his gaze on the carpet beneath his feet. “Sorry, I—didn’t mean to be in anyone’s way.”

He attempted to stand, only for Sam to clap a hand over his shoulder and push him back down. “Not so fast, Goldilocks. Mind explaining who you are?”

“Peter.” The teen looked over his shoulder. “Uh, Mr. Stark’s intern. It’s nice to meet you… all. Big fan.”

Tony didn’t seem intent on supporting the introduction, instead sighing and wandering into the kitchen, and Peter blanched when he realized he’d been abandoned. Steve figured now would be a good time to step in. “Take it easy on him, guys. He’s a nice kid.”

“He looks too normal,” Clint declared with a definitive nod. “Stark doesn’t do normal.”

“He _is_ top of his class at Midtown Tech,” Tony called. “Maybe even top of his whole school. He’s incredibly smart—ask Bruce.” Peter spluttered something unintelligible, and the toaster binged. “Speaking of, Bruce has a project he wants your help with, so get moving.”

Maybe Peter hadn’t quite been abandoned. He scrambled to his feet—this time with no interference—grabbed some granola bars from the kitchen, and rushed out of the room, and Tony made himself a cup of coffee before following suit. Everyone watched them go.

Clint snorted. “He’s definitely _not_ an intern.”

“It’s as weird as it sounds,” Rhodey agreed, and Steve wondered if he’d met the kid before. Maybe in passing, since Tony didn’t seem intent on formally introducing Peter to everyone.

“Maybe he’s a spy,” Natasha suggested, quirking an eyebrow. “Or an alien.”

“I can at least _hope_ he’s normal,” Sam muttered as he went to make coffee and breakfast. “God knows we don’t need anything else crazy going on.”

Peter seemed normal enough to Steve; however, it’d been over seventy years since he had much experience with normal, so maybe he wasn’t the best judge of that.

***

Sometimes, Bruce was just as bad as Tony when it came to messing up his sleep schedule, but his science benders were fewer and farther between and it was easier to convince him to sleep: this time, it only took Peter two minutes to convince the man that he needed a nap, assuring that he’d keep an eye on the chemical reaction taking place in one corner of his lab in the meantime. And so, Peter divided his attention between that and improving his webshooters while Tony left to do something else.

While he did his best to push his earlier embarrassment to the back of his mind, it kept creeping up on him anyway, and he just hoped Tony didn’t give him a hard time about it. The others—well, he didn’t mind that part so much, though he would’ve thought twice about sleeping on the couch if he realized they’d be there. Which seemed more than reasonable in hindsight.

When his stomach grumbled a few hours later, he sighed and pouted at the empty wrappers in the trash. He kept snacks in the lab, but thanks to his fast metabolism, they didn’t last very long, and he resigned himself to venturing back to the common room. Maybe now that the Avengers were back, he should start using the Stark Industries employee breakroom? But as his stomach rumbled, he dismissed the thought. The Avengers’ common room was closer to both the labs and his room, and Tony gave him explicit permission to use it. Besides, he had no reason to avoid the team… right?

He approached the kitchen slower than he normally would, though he relaxed more when he found the area mostly empty save Clint lounging on one of the couches, with whom he exchanged a polite greeting. Expecting it to seem different now that other people used it more too, he examined the kitchen. A couple weeks ago, someone—most likely Steve—hung a cork messenger board on the wall, which held a grocery list and the occasional memo, and something between a laugh and a snort escaped him when he noticed a new addition. The note was mostly organized despite the brainstorming vibe to it, and Peter couldn’t tell how he was supposed to feel as he read through it.

_Who is Peter?_

  * _Stark’s secret lovechild._
    * _Lots of party days before Iron Man._
    * _Hidden from the world this whole time?_
    * _Recently discovered!_
  * _A spy._
  * _An alien._
  * _Enhanced?_
    * _More human experimentation?_
  * _~~Steve’s secret lovechild.~~_
    * _Too old, ironically._
  * _A perfectly normal, intelligent teenager._
    * _Filling the void the broken team left behind._



Peter suspected most of the handwriting to be either Sam’s or Clint’s, but the final point and support were distinctively Bruce’s, potentially an attempt to guilt them into leaving the issue alone; it certainly drew a wince from the teen. As he rummaged through the refrigerator for something to eat, he found himself somewhere between embarrassed and amused. If nothing else, it reminded him of how people theorized over Spider-man’s identity, and he never thought Peter Parker would be subjected to the same scrutiny. Well, he hoped that them being so open about it meant they weren’t very serious.

As he settled onto the free couch with a sandwich and a glass of juice, he found himself curious about one particular detail—and who better to ask than someone who’d surely been in the middle of the debate? “Is, uh, Captain Rogers too old to have…?”

Clint glanced up from his phone with a smile on his face, warm and amused. “No, _you’re_ too old. Cap hasn’t been unfrozen long enough to have a kid your age.”

Okay, that made more sense. Peter wasn’t sure if maybe—well. He didn’t need to think about that. Or the fact that one of their guesses was spot on. Nodding, he took a bite of his sandwich. On one hand, he sort of wanted to ask how Clint was settling back in, just for the sake of making sure everyone was doing alright, but on the other, it didn’t seem quite appropriate.

“Though a secret love- _grand_ child might not be impossible,” the archer mused, then stood up and walked to the kitchen, possibly to add this thought to the list.

Peter made a face. At the very least, he hoped the only evidence that supported any of these theories was the whole _Tony Stark didn’t do normal_ thing, but he didn’t want to push his luck by asking. After Clint returned with a pleased grin, they sat in silence until Peter finished his lunch. “You know that one part in Lord of the Rings where Legolas stabs an orc with his arrow and then pulls it out and shoots a second orc with it?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever done that?”

Clint hummed. “Not that I can remember. Seems like a good way to conserve arrows. I’ll keep it in mind if I ever find myself fighting against a hoard of orcs.”

Peter huffed out a soft laugh, and some distant part of his brain reminded him of the fact that he just ate lunch _with an Avenger_. Not that Tony and Bruce didn’t count—because they definitely did—but this time was just as amazing.

***

Tony didn’t find the theory list nearly as amusing as Peter did, if his scoff and eye roll were anything to go by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main creative liberty I'm taking timeline-wise is that Bruce has been back since about a month before the beginning of the first chapter--which takes place over the course of about two or three months. More on that later. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. don't toast that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiders, man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warning for Peter having anxiety.
> 
> Thank you very much for all the nice comments! I really appreciate each and every one--they make my day!

Peter wasn’t entirely sure how much Bruce knew about Spider-man. For the sake of having a doctor around who had experience with enhanced individuals, he and Tony informed him of that much—mainly regarding the super healing thing. Even if Bruce wasn’t exactly a medical doctor, he knew enough first aid and basics to either assist the teen’s healing process or take care of him until someone more qualified showed up. Based on that fact, he might’ve put together that this enhanced kid from Queens was Spider-man, but if he had, he didn’t say anything about it. Maybe he was waiting until he was officially let in on the secret to express whatever thoughts or opinions he held.

So far, Bruce hadn’t needed to do anything more than set a broken bone back in place before Peter’s healing factor mended it the wrong way, and he’d watched as minor cuts and scrapes healed on their own. Peter felt a little bad about it, but every time Bruce mentioned it, he found himself scrambling for a change of subject—he just didn’t really want to be poked or prodded at. If he wanted to be a science project, he would’ve thrown himself at the government’s door the second he realized he had powers.

It was bad enough that Tony would randomly poke him with sharp objects in an attempt to figure out how his spider sense worked.

“So you still don’t remember how you ended up back here?” Peter recalled asking Bruce the same question months ago around the time he first showed up at the Compound—though the first thing he said to the scientist involved excited rambling about his work and old papers—and while he didn’t expect the answer to change, there surely was no harm in making sure.

Bruce shrugged. “Nope, still a huge blur.” Which meant that it most likely had something to do with the other guy.

Peter found it interesting, to say the least. While he pretended to be two different people, Bruce practically _was_ , and he could only imagine how confusing or frustrating that could get. “Maybe we’ll figure it out someday,” he mused.

At one point, Tony stopped by the lab for just long enough to announce that the Revised Accords were approved and that he was going to go pass out somewhere, and for the next few hours, Peter worked on chemistry projects with Bruce, grinning almost the whole time. That was, until FRIDAY’s voice interrupted. **“Peter, Ms. Romanoff requests your presence in the common room.”**

“Uh, okay.” The teen shared a confused glance with Bruce before he shrugged, set his stuff down in a somewhat organized manner, and stood to hurry over to the common room, not wanting to keep the Black Widow waiting. When he arrived he came across a few Avengers standing in the kitchen, surrounding Natasha with varying degrees of interest, while others lounged or napped on the couches. Peter couldn’t say he blamed them; they all must’ve had a long, rough day. “Ms. Romanoff,” he greeted, coming to a stop next to Steve. “What, uh, what can I do for you?”

She stood in front of the kitchen table, blocking his view of whatever was on it. “Call me Nat. I just figured that you could use a break. It’s not good to spend all your time cooped up in that lab like Stark and Banner do.” Her tone deceptively innocent, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “Besides, I want you to meet my new friend.”

Peter hoped said friend was a puppy. No new person stood in the room, and his enhanced hearing clued him into the fact that no one lurked around the corner waiting for a signal to enter. A kitten would also be nice—or maybe a lizard of some kind. He wasn’t that picky. As long as it wasn’t—“Your new friend?”

It wasn’t a puppy. Natasha turned around, and Peter took a couple steps back. Crawling on the back of her hand was a large, furry spider. Immediately, Peter regretted his decision to come as well as every other life choice that led to this moment; he shrunk in on himself, arms wrapping around his middle as he moved behind Steve. With luck—not that he had much of it—the soldier would defend him from the threat. And for what it was worth, Steve did make sure to stand between Peter and Natasha when she stepped closer. “Nat, I don’t think Peter likes your new friend,” Steve said. He sounded amused, the traitor.

Hugging himself tighter in an attempt not to tremble, the teen peaked around and frowned at the arachnid. He should’ve stayed in the lab. “Uh, what—what’s its—um, why?” When Sam and Clint chuckled at his stammering, he glared at them, though he didn’t take his eyes off the spider for more than a second. At least his sixth sense wasn’t triggered by its presence. Just regular old anxiety. Blood-chilling, heart-pounding anxiety. Neither were pleasant.

“I like spiders.” Natasha apparently found that to be adequate explanation. “Since it seems we’ll be here for awhile, I figured getting a pet couldn’t hurt.” Peter absolutely did not trust her smile. “I already warned Tony that if the Revisions fall through, I’m releasing him in the Compound.”

“Is it poisonous?” Sam asked, and the teen cringed, inching closer to Steve.

“Someone might find out eventually,” the assassin replied before looking back towards Peter. “A healthy dose of fear is good for you, you know, as is facing that fear.” As though offering the arachnid for him to take, she held her arm out, to which he winced.

Peter heard Bruce’s footsteps well before he entered the room. “You know what else is good for you? Not traumatizing kids.”

“As it turns out, the funnest things are always the unhealthiest,” Clint chimed in.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to hold him?” she asked Peter.

“Very sure, Ms. Ro—uh, Nat.” In that moment, his fear of the Black Widow and her spider far outweighed his fear of being impolite, so he obliged her earlier request.

Giving him a look that seemed to promise a later attempt, Natasha walked back to the table and placed the spider back into its glass cage. Peter marginally relaxed while Steve stepped aside and placed a hand on his shoulder as though to confirm that he was now safe. With a soft sigh, he exchanged a look with Bruce, but before he could make the suggestion to retreat back to the lab, Clint spoke up once more. “Now that Nat’s done traumatizing the kid, we can move onto the actual reason we dragged you out here.” He raised a glass. “To celebrate our latest victory.”

Right, celebrate—with Peter? Was inviting him a deliberate choice, or did they just figure that they might as well since he was here? They surely knew that he could be left in the lab by himself; after all, Steve had seen him alone there before. But it wasn’t like he had anything to do with the Revisions. Maybe he should be taking their theory list more seriously—if not just for the sake of politesse, they may be inviting them because they knew something… _more_.

Peter forced a nervous smile, vaguely aware of Steve’s hand leaving his shoulder and the soldier no longer standing by his side, vaguely aware of someone else speaking. “Um, with me?” he managed to ask after a moment.

“Yeah, of course with you.” From what the teen could hear over his heart pounding in his ears, Clint sounded confused as to why that was even a question. “We know how important you were to this whole thing.”

Bruce’s voice came as a distant echo. “I told them what you did.”

 _What he did._ Peter didn’t do anything—not to help with the Revisions. But Spider-man might’ve done something by swaying Tony’s opinions of heroism, though he’d never even imagine himself to have that sort of influence; another person might assume so, however, and he supposed it was a reasonable enough conclusion. That meant that they should be inviting _Spider-man_ to celebrate with them, though, right—right?

His gaze gravitated towards the spider innocuously roaming around its cage. He understood the feeling, being trapped. It crept up on him each time someone figured out his secret identity, something he’d yet to reveal by choice. _Just once,_ he would’ve liked to be the one to say it, to have some control over the situation.

He swayed. His head swam, and he wondered what’d happen if he just passed out right there. Before he could find out, a firm hand steadied him. “Are you alright, Peter?” A firm hand, a firm voice. Must be Captain America.

“Yeah… yeah, just…” Peter shook his head, rubbing at his temple. “ _Spiders_ ,” he stressed because that little monster did nothing to help stem his anxiety. Why did he have to keep looking at it? He allowed himself to be led to the couch and sat down, and he strained to hear someone tell Natasha to take the spider to her room.

Everything else was a blur until a certain voice cut through the haze. “What’s going on here?” The room quieted down as everyone turned their attention to Tony Stark, who brushed Steve aside as he came and knelt in front of the teen. “Kid, are you okay?”

“Spiders,” Peter repeated with a vague, half-hearted gesture, and he hoped that that single word conveyed the gravity of the situation. It only elicited a confused frown.

“Did you know that Peter’s arachnophobic?” Clint supplied helpfully. He sounded way too cheerful, though Peter couldn’t blame him if he was just trying to ease the building tension. “Because Nat just found out the hard way.”

Tony looked to Peter for confirmation, and the teen nodded. “That’s it? Nothing else?” Another nod. This one wasn’t as confident.

A glass of water appeared at Peter’s side, which he accepted with shaky hands and mumbled gratitude. Slowly, everyone went about their business and celebration, giving him space to calm down and relax. Not that he didn’t still want to jump out the window and websling away, but he figured that if the Avengers knew his identity, then he’d have to face the situation like a responsible adult.

Though, they seemed rather relaxed about the whole thing. Did they not care that Spider-man was just a high school kid? Or was it not an issue that mattered at this very moment?

He did his best to relax against the plush cushions and take slow, deep breaths. Around him, he could hear the adults chatting, some about the Revisions, some about contact with the other rogues, some catching up—mentions of uptight lawyers, newly discovered restaurants, miniature golf, Wakanda, Bucky. When he sat up and glanced around, he accidentally drew the attention back to himself.

Oops.

“So what did the kid do, anyway?” Sam asked as he looked between Clint and Bruce. “I missed out on that conversation.”

Peter, tense as the subject came up again, ignored the curious glance Tony shot him. A part of him wanted to immediately start apologizing, but he decided to wait and see what _they_ thought he did first.

Bruce smiled as he recounted, “The whim that caused Tony to call Steve was Peter.” The teen’s brows furrowed. “They had an argument one day about which science is superior, and the next time he came to the lab, he wore a Captain America shirt.”

Frowning, Peter opened and closed his mouth a couple times as he tried to figure out what Bruce was talking about, only for heat to rise to his cheeks a moment later. Yeah, he remembered that. “That’s—that’s not—I didn’t—” he stammered, hiding his face in his hands. “That wasn’t on purpose, I swear.”

“That was the night Tony reached out,” Bruce concluded.

Sam whistled. “Who knew Goldilocks could be so petty?”

Peter groaned. “I’m _not_.”

“Let’s hear it for Peter’s pettiness!” Clint called, raising his glass. Most joined him.

“ _No_ ,” the teen whined, “don’t toast that.” Was this better than having his identity revealed? Maybe, maybe not. Aside from the embarrassment, he found himself more disturbed by the thought that he accidentally upset or offended Tony by not paying attention to which shirt he wore to the Compound. Hopefully Bruce’s assessment wasn’t accurate.

“Slander.” Tony spoke up with a frown, though the slight quirk to his brow betrayed possible amusement. “Post hoc ergo proctor hoc. Any good scientist would know that just because one thing happens before another doesn’t mean it’s the cause, Bruce. Did none of your seven PhDs teach you that?”

“Sure, sure.”

A couple more laughs and the conversation moved on. The relief from his identity being safe made him dizzy, but he gradually relaxed and chimed in every now and then with questions and comments. He thought Sam was cool before, but after learning about the man’s work with veterans, that respect increased exponentially. Rhodey told a few embarrassing stories about Tony, to which Tony retorted with tales of Rhodey; when Clint attempted to tell a story about Natasha, she shut him up with a threatening glare.

“Midtown Tech is in Queens, right?” Clint asked Peter when the conversation briefly lapsed. As the question was rhetorical, he continued before he received any more than a nod in response. “Spider-man’s pretty big around there, huh?”

The benefit to not being popular at school was that, despite the fact that he heard people talk about Spider-man, Peter was rarely involved in such conversations: it didn’t give him the chance to say anything awkward or incriminating. He shifted in his seat, hoping that he didn’t seem nervous about the topic. “Uh, yeah, yeah. He’s popular at my school.”

“So,” Sam, who’d initially grimaced at the change of subject, had a thought, “if you’re afraid of spiders, does that mean you’re afraid of Spider-man?”

The absurdity almost made the teen laugh. Yeah, it was pretty ironic to style his hero persona after something that terrified him, but since he acquired his powers as a result of a spider, it only made sense. “No, no. I mean, he’s only like… half-spider. If he had extra limbs, though…” Trailing off, he shuddered. Whenever life got tough, he could always remind himself that at least he didn’t sprout spider legs. That’d be _gross_ —and difficult to hide.

His response earned a few chuckles. “I’d ask if you’re afraid of Black Widow,” Clint started, “but since you’re a smart kid, the answer is obviously yes.”

Natasha merely smiled as Peter nodded his agreement. Superpowers or not, only a fool would have no fear of the assassin.

The teen couldn’t help but be a little relieved when the conversation shifted once more.

***

Only later that night when he was helping clean up and wash the dishes did he notice a new addition on the theory list. This one was in Tony’s distinct handwriting, and though the comment itself made him flush with embarrassment, he couldn’t help but laugh at the censorship. Three guesses as to who did that.

  * _Smarter than all you dumb███es put together._



Steve glanced over at the sound. “I can handle the rest myself if you’d rather go to bed.”

Remembering the dishes he held, Peter tore his attention from the messenger board and carried them to the sink. Everyone else had already gone to sleep or otherwise left, which left the two apparently most responsible residents. “No, no, it’s alright. Um, I’m grateful you guys let me join your celebration, so I can at least do this much.” He opted to leave out how often he stayed up late either studying or patrolling.

Without looking up from the dish he was washing, the soldier smiled. Since there seemed to be a certain way he preferred doing things, Peter did his best to follow the man’s lead; however, if he messed up, Steve didn’t mention it. “Hopefully next time, there won’t be any unpleasant surprises.”

The teen’s enhanced hearing didn’t let him miss when Tony pulled Natasha aside and informed her that she better not let _that damn spider_ out of her room. Or at least not let it anywhere Peter could see it. “Yeah, hopefully.”

Idly, Peter wondered how jealous Ned would be when he heard that Peter partied with the Avengers, especially when he was somehow jealous of _himself_.


	4. maybe that's better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bucky don't particular like each other, but Peter still wants to be friends with the former Winter Soldier.

Oftentimes, Steve and Tony didn’t see eye to eye. While they certainly held similarities, they were two very different people with very different opinions, ideals, life experiences, everything. There were certain topics that they simply wouldn’t agree on no matter how much they tried.

Steve had long since accepted that Bucky was one such topic. Though it didn’t please him, he could at least understand why Tony didn’t—and possibly never would—like Bucky. Every now and then, however, they came to a compromise, and while he knew that the billionaire could’ve turned down the proposition at any point, Steve still felt the need to remind him. “You didn’t have to do this,” he mentioned one afternoon when they were alone in the kitchen. Before continuing, he considered his words carefully. “I appreciate it, but I don’t want it to be a burden on you.”

It seemed like the first time in awhile that they were actually alone together; after all, just them being in the same room sometimes led to tension when a comment one made rubbed the other the wrong way, and in those cases, it was useful when there were other people around to change the subject. Steve himself didn’t intentionally avoid Tony, but he could understand that the billionaire may prefer avoiding the possibility of accidentally picking a fight.

“Full disclosure,” Tony replied with a pointed glance in the soldier’s direction before returning his attention to brewing coffee, “but it’s not _your_ opinion I’m trusting on this. It’s T’Challa and Shuri’s assurances that he’s stable enough to continue treatment elsewhere.” Nonetheless, Tony had no obligation to let the former Winter Soldier stay at the Compound of all places. He fiddled with some random object while he waited. “I’m only giving him one chance, Rogers. One. If he screws that up, he’s gone. And I don’t mean minor mistakes—I know how recovery goes; it’s not all flowers and rainbows—but if his mistake causes someone—anyone—to get hurt, he’s done.”

Leaning against the counter, Steve crossed his arms over his stomach. While he wanted to argue that Bucky wouldn’t hurt anyone, he knew that’d only spark an unnecessary argument; besides, it wasn’t like the soldier could see the future, and he wanted to avoid false reassurances. In the end, he couldn’t guarantee that _he_ would never hurt anyone. And so, despite any lingering frustration, he forced a nod. “I understand, and I’m sure Buck understands. Thank you for giving him a chance.”

Tony nodded, almost satisfied, only to frown a moment later. “I don’t really want him around the kid,” he admitted, and Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “But I also don’t want to tell Peter who he can and can’t talk to. Still, when he’s here, I’m the one responsible for his safety.” A sigh, then he forced himself to make eye contact with Steve. “Just—if I’m not around, do me the favor of keeping an eye on them?”

“I will.”

A soft growl and awkward shuffle caught their attention before Steve could say more, and based on Peter’s loosely crossed arms and the way he avoided eye contact as he entered the room, Steve thought it safe to assume that he overheard a fair bit of the conversation. A glance towards Tony confirmed that he was just as surprised to see the kid as Steve, which didn’t come as a shock. If not for Pepper and FRIDAY, Steve doubted the billionaire would ever know what day it was, and there didn’t seem to be a set schedule for when Peter came over.

“Hey, Peter,” Steve greeted, attempting to shrug off the awkward atmosphere. “How was school?”

“Did you ace your chemistry test?” Tony added while fixing himself a cup of coffee.

Peter nodded as he grabbed an apple. “Yeah, of course, yeah. Uh, is—is Sergeant Barnes… coming to stay?”

By now, Steve had been around the teen long enough to recognize the hesitant excitement coloring his expression, and they both looked over to Tony, who apparently neglected to mention this earlier and didn’t appear all that pleased about Peter’s reaction. “For the time being,” he responded neutrally enough.

When the teen turned his gaze towards Steve, the soldier smiled and answered what he suspected Peter’s next question would be. “He’s coming in tonight.” It made him happy to know that someone was welcoming of Bucky’s presence; after all, he still wasn’t sure how most of the others would react, though no one said anything against it. While he started to wonder why Peter was so excited—whether it was because of Bucky being Captain America’s best friend or because of scientific interest in his metal arm—he brushed the thought away. It didn’t really matter in the end.

“Awesome,” the teen chirped, swallowing a large bite of apple.

Coffee in hand, Tony walked over and patted Peter’s shoulder. “Alright, c’mon kid. We’ve got stuff to work on.”

Steve watched as they left, chatting about something he couldn’t begin to understand.

***

Bucky’s arrival was quiet. Most of the team was either busy or currently staying elsewhere, and those who were at the Compound—namely Tony and Bruce—were in their labs. Neither Bucky nor Steve minded this fact, however, as it gave the former time to adjust to the change of scenery before being bombarded by social interaction. And as Steve knew all too well, there’d be quite the commotion at some point.

Steve gave the best tour he could think of, given that his security clearance was significantly higher than his friend’s and he didn’t want to risk annoying Tony by taking them anywhere Bucky wasn’t permitted. As the two headed back towards the common room, they crossed paths with Tony and Peter.

For what it was worth, Tony offered a polite nod, while the teen perked up. “Peter,” Steve started after they exchanged a quick greeting, “this is Bucky. Bucky, Peter. He’s Tony’s intern.”

Peter held out his hand for Bucky to shake. “It’s uh, nice to meet you.”

Steve noted a slight problem when he realized that it was his left hand. Even after T’Challa and Shuri gifted Bucky a new arm to replace the one Hydra made, he noticed that Bucky tended to avoid touching people with his metal hand; it didn’t come up often since he was still fairly reserved and most people shook hands with their right, but on the few occasions where Steve saw Bucky play with the kids in Wakanda, it didn’t take long for him to put it together.

It rarely came up, but Steve belatedly realized that Peter was left-handed.

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky returned, and when he made no move to shake the offered hand, Tony cleared his throat softly. The teen glanced down, appeared to notice his mistake, and switched hands. This time, Bucky obliged, not seeming particularly bothered. Steve held in a relieved sigh.

Whether this interaction was poorly timed or Tony was simply eager for it to be over, Tony gave the teen’s shoulder two firm pats and said, “Alright kid, Happy’s waiting for you.”

“Right, right.” Peter adjusted his backpack, glancing between Steve and Bucky. “I’ll see you around, then?”

Steve nodded with a smile. “Yeah, we’ll see you. Have fun at school tomorrow.”

Beaming as he turned to leave, Peter saluted them. Once he disappeared into the elevator, Tony turned around and clapped his hands together. “You two find everything okay? If there’s anything you need, feel free to let me know, or write it on the board that Cap put up.”

By now, Steve knew Tony well enough to know how strained his good host act was, and he did his best to reflect his appreciation in his gaze. While he’d prefer that they all got along, he knew how idealistic that was; with everything that happened between them, this was about the best he could expect.

“It’s fine.” Bucky regarded the billionaire with a neutral expression. “I appreciate you letting me stay here.”

Tony waved a hand. “Yeah, sure, make yourself at home. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” He made to walk past them, presumably to go back to his lab, and neither Steve nor Bucky stopped him.

As the two continued on their way to the common room, Bucky asked, “Is Peter the one from that list?”

Steve’s focus had been mostly on showing Bucky the different rooms and amenities, so he’d neglected to mention a few miscellaneous details—such as Tony’s intern. Idly, he wondered how odd the theory list read to someone who didn’t know the context of it. “One and the same, yes. The list is just the team messing around,” he explained, then pursed his lips. “At least, I’m pretty sure it’s a joke.”

Naturally, he hadn’t quite approved of making it in the first place, and if there’d been any indication that it made Peter uncomfortable, he would’ve taken it down immediately; however, the teen appeared to find it funny, so Steve allowed it.

“I can see why Stark having an intern would cause confusion. Doesn’t really seem like the caretaker type.”

If Peter were older and didn’t hang around the way he did, Steve doubted said internship would inspire this level of scrutiny; as it stood, the arrangement didn’t seem all that professional. It reminded him more of apprenticeships, though perhaps there wasn’t _much_ of a difference nowadays. But based on the fact that the others also thought it odd, maybe not.

“Maybe not.” On one hand, Steve felt like he should defend his friend more, but on the other, Bucky wasn’t exactly wrong; besides, it wasn’t a _flaw_ , per se, just a different personality trait. One that more or less explained why Steve was typically referred to as the Avengers’ leader rather than Tony. “He’s changed in the past few months, though,” he continued. “I think he’s trying to better himself.”

Bucky shrugged. “That what inspired the Revisions?”

Among other things, probably, yes. “From what I’ve heard, they’ve had issues with Ross over the past several months. Unfortunately, it’s easy for the government to abuse the power the Accords gave them.” In an ideal world, no one would have to worry about that sort of thing, but the soldier had become far too aware of how imperfect their world was.

“Not to mention them fraternizing with those in direct violation of the Accords,” a new voice spoke up as they entered the kitchen. Steve smiled as he nodded at Sam, who busied himself with making a sandwich. “Between Vis and Maximoff and the fact that I’m fairly certain that the Spider-freak from the airport was never registered.”

“You still bitter about getting beaten by a bug?” Bucky asked as he stepped forward and held out a hand.

Sam clasped it and gave it a firm shake. “Hey, I did more than you. Aren’t you supposed to be a _super_ soldier?”

“I’m a soldier, not an exterminator.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly as he searched the refrigerator for ingredients he could use to make dinner. Yeah, he missed these two.

***

Roughly half the time Peter stayed at the Compound, Steve woke up to find him sleeping on the couch. After the first time, the teen became better at getting up before anyone else found him—in part due to him requesting that Steve wake him up before he left on his morning jog. The soldier wondered if it was because he wanted to avoid the same embarrassment or if he didn’t want Tony in particular to know about this habit, but either way, he didn’t see any harm in obliging.

On the days he woke the teen up, he returned to find Peter making breakfast for them both, and on the days Peter actually slept in his room, he wandered into the kitchen right as Steve finished cooking. It didn’t take more than once or twice for the soldier to start making extra in anticipation; at times, he did it out of habit only to realize that Peter wasn’t there, but there was always someone else around who ate the excess instead.

After seventy years trapped in the ice, Steve resigned himself to missing out on life experiences that others took for granted, especially since he became drawn once again into war and heroism rather than living a normal, quiet life. And after the Accords debacle and becoming a fugitive, he figured his chances to experience certain things diminished even further. Having the team around lessened the weight that knowledge put on his shoulders.

Having Peter around seemed to fill a void that no one else managed to.

This morning as he entered the common room after his jog, he heard Bucky in the kitchen with Peter, and he couldn’t keep the warm smile from his face.

“I’m telling you, Steve loves a _lot_ of black pepper in his eggs. At least a few spoons’ worth.”

“Uh, he’s never made them that way before, though?”

“Yeah, ‘cause he knows a squirt like you wouldn’t be able to handle it. He’s nice that way. We can cook his separate.”

Usually, the teen was plating breakfast by the time he got back, but Bucky apparently slowed down the process. And to Steve’s great relief, he walked in to see that Peter was holding the pepper grinder, not Bucky. “He’s messing with you, son,” he informed Peter, who glanced over at him, “but you can put some pepper in if you want.”

Bucky grinned at him from where he stood by the teen’s side. “I was hoping you’d be gone for another few minutes.”

“Jerk,” Steve retorted.

Peter stared at the eggs in contemplation, put one twist of pepper in them, and placed the grinder aside as he continued cooking. Steve grabbed plates and silverware before serving what the teen already finished, and soon enough, Peter scooped the eggs onto the plates, each of which held enough food to feed a few people. They were, after all, two super soldiers with enhanced metabolisms and—well, he’d heard plenty of jokes about teenage boys having black holes for stomachs.

While they ate, Peter kept glancing at Bucky as though he wanted to ask a hundred questions, only to think better of it, which left Steve—who’d been subject to the kid’s curiosity several times—to wonder why he refrained from speaking. And apparently, he wasn’t the only one. “So what’d Stark tell you about me?” Bucky asked.

The teen’s face flushed as he spluttered, staring at his eggs as though they were the most interesting thing in the world and seeming to count each speck of pepper. “Um, well, just—just the normal ‘be polite and respectful’ stuff? That’s, uh, the gist of it, so…”

It didn’t take much effort on Steve’s part to imagine what Tony’s exact words were—surely something that violated what Peter just said. He kept that thought to himself, however, and instead turned his attention to Bucky, who raised an eyebrow at the teen. Somehow, he knew he wasn’t the only one to realize that the kid picked the nicest summary possible. “That so? Well, I don’t go around eating children, so you don’t need to worry about that.” Bucky tilted his head. “As long as you’re a good kid, at least.”

Peter chuckled sheepishly as he shoveled food into his mouth. “He, uh,” he started a moment later, seemingly unsure of whether or not he should be talking, “just put a lot of the emphasis on—on the _semi_ part of semi-stable is all. But that’s just ‘cause he wants to make sure I’m safe? My aunt would kill him if something happened to me while I’m here.”

As much as Steve was a little annoyed that Tony felt the need to give such a severe warning, he couldn’t say he didn’t understand it either, and it came as an odd relief that the billionaire was showing responsibility—even if he was a little abrasive about it. Change took time.

If Bucky was offended by the explanation, it didn’t show; instead, he offered a small smile. “Trust me, squirt, if you piss me off, I’ll tell you.”

That seemed to be reassurance enough as the teen’s lips quirked up into a grin. “I can be pretty annoying,” he warned.

“We’ll see about that.”

From there, Peter wasted no time in launching into his questions, most of which revolved around Bucky and Steve’s friendship and the Howling Commandoes. Whenever Bucky faltered in his answers—there were still many gaps in his memories—Steve chimed in with his two cents, and their conversation continued in that manner until Peter excused himself to the lab. He _was_ there for work, after all.

“He seems familiar,” Bucky mentioned after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Steve hummed in consideration. “He reminds me of a kid from our old neighborhood.”

“Yeah, that might be it.”

***

Peter’s room was specifically designed to muffle noise better than the other rooms at the Compound. This wasn’t a feature he asked for, but he knew that Tony meant well when he implemented it; he figured that the billionaire thought it’d help him sleep, given his enhanced senses and all that. But to someone who slept in New York City with little issue, the lack of sound became more unnerving than anything.

Every time he slept at the Compound, he flipped a coin. Some nights, the quiet didn’t bother him much at all, but other times, it made him restless. It made him feel stuck, like the spacious room was slowly caving in on him. On particularly bad nights, the unnatural quiet made his chest feel tight, made it hard to breathe. He blamed the Vulture for that. Not to mention—

Sometimes, he talked to Karen or climbed up to the roof. About half the time, he ended up on the couch in the common room. Not only was the space much bigger—far less likely to cave in—but he could _hear_ people move around—guards patrolling other floors, the occasional movement from an Avengers’ room—and the sounds of nature outside. When that wasn’t enough, he’d put in headphones, though he since learned not to play his music so loud that it drowned out the footsteps of the other residents.

He didn’t want Tony to know how seldom he actually slept in his room; after all, he didn’t want the billionaire to think he was ungrateful. Because really, he _was_ grateful for the considerate design. He just didn’t like it.

Sometimes, different team members stayed up late into the night, and on those occasions, Peter usually stuck to going to the roof instead. When he heard Steve and Bucky’s soft voices, however, he supposed it couldn’t hurt to at least pop in for a little bit—even if he ended up only grabbing a snack from the kitchen. Or something. It was a safe enough bet. Steve kept his secret about sleeping on the couch so far—which the teen knew because Tony had yet to confront him about it—and since Bucky and Tony didn’t seem to like each other, he figured the chance of Bucky saying anything about it was slim to none.

His steps were slow, still hesitant despite reassuring himself that it was fine, until he reached the end of the hallway and peeked in to see the two men on the couch watching a movie. Spotting the teen, Steve grabbed the remote and paused it, and while Peter noted the suspicious way Bucky scooted a few inches away from his friend, he drew no attention to it. “Is everything alright, Peter?” the captain asked.

He interpreted that as permission to step fully into the common room. “I, uh, hope I’m not interrupting anything?” They both shook their heads. “I just… Are you watching Die Hard?” Since mentioning why he was awake may cause him to slip up and mention him being enhanced, he figured it’d be best to avoid the subject altogether despite the concerned look on Steve’s face as he observed the teen’s nervous posture.

If they were awake this late, they surely understood sleepless nights without him having to say it aloud.

Steve glanced between the television and the teen. “Sam recommended it. Do you want us to start it over?”

Peter shook his head as he built up the courage to shuffle over and sit on the couch next to Steve. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ve seen this movie about a hundred times. It’s old but good.”

“I didn’t realize this movie had so much is common with Steve,” Bucky joked, eliciting an exasperated look and a chuckle.

With a soft scoff, a muttered comment about _jerks_ , and one last glance towards Peter, Steve resumed the movie, and the three settled into a comfortable silence as they watched. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for the weariness from a long day of experiments and tinkering to catch up to the teen, who did his best to stifle his yawns; him subconsciously shifting closer to the nearest source of warmth didn’t help.

Despite already drifting in and out of awareness, he did his best to stay awake, plans that were then foiled by his body’s sleepy decision to curl up on the soldier’s lap. Steve’s soft chuckle and the comforting hand petting his head absentmindedly only sealed the deal—he couldn’t fight off sleep any longer.

Bucky glanced over at the two every now and then, an amused smile on his lips. Occasionally, the teen shifted and whined a bit in his sleep—the beginnings of a nightmare?—at which point Steve would gently card a hand through his hair or rub soothing circles on his back to calm him down. Somehow, Bucky managed to keep his comment to himself until the credits rolled. “You sure _all_ those theories are jokes?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “As far as I’m aware, yes.” Except for Tony’s contribution, at least, which just went to show how highly he thought of the kid.

For several minutes, they went back and forth between comfortable silence and quiet chatting, neither wanting to make too much noise out of respect for the sleeping teenager. Bucky told tales of a fruit vendor in Romania while Steve talked about his new apartment in Brooklyn that he occasionally stayed at. Eventually, they were interrupted by Peter shifting, stretching a bit, and drawling, “Cap, why do Nazis ruin everything?”

The question drew a startled half-snort half-laugh from the soldier as he glanced towards Bucky for any indication that he should stop Peter from continuing. He could tell that the teen was still half-asleep, possibly unaware of his company, and though Bucky stiffened a bit, the slight quirk of his brow kept Steve from waking Peter up. “I think that’s just the way they are, pal,” he answered after a moment. “Why?”

A few incoherent mumbles preceded the teen’s response. “The Winter Soldier’s really cool… but Nazis made him sad.” Steve could see the slightest frown pull at his lips. “What if he doesn’t wanna be my friend? ‘Cause we were on opposite sides…”

 _…of what?_ Steve shared a look with Bucky, noting that his friend seemed just as confused. Well, if nothing else, the comment confirmed that Peter knew about Bucky being the Winter Soldier despite it not being common knowledge. Tony must have told him. “You mean when he was part of Hydra?” Steve guessed. A neutral sound followed, and when no correction came, the soldier interpreted it as confirmation. “I don’t think that’s any reason for Buck to not be your friend. He’s on our side now.”

Peter hummed, curling up a bit more and rubbing his face with his sweater sleeve. “…’kay,” he mumbled and promptly fell back asleep.

“I was kind of hoping he didn’t know about… that,” Bucky commented.

“Well,” Steve sighed, “I’m not sure how else Tony would’ve explained the fact that you’re still alive. He doesn’t seem to care, at least. Maybe that’s better?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Shrugging, Bucky leaned back against the couch cushions. “I guess we know where you’re sleeping tonight. You’d have to be an absolute punk to move this kid.”

One benefit to being a super soldier, as it turned out, was the fact that even if he fell asleep in a less than ideal position, his healing factor quickly erased any discomfort. That didn’t stop Bucky from rubbing it in his face by laying down on the other couch—after placing a blanket over Peter.

***

At dawn, Steve carefully freed himself to go on his morning jog, restlessness catching up to him. When he came back, the smell of pancakes filled the air, courtesy of Bucky, and Peter sat at the table eating the first batch _. “Hey short stack, hurry up before they get cold,”_ Steve could all but hear his friend say, brushing off any insistence that they wait for the soldier to return.

Sam joined them in the kitchen just after Steve, but when he went to grab some pancakes, Bucky swatted his hand away. “Not for you.”

“Then who are they for?”

“My friends.”

Peter promptly choked on a bite of pancake.


	5. you didn't have to.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter just wants to help out a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and thank you for all the lovely comments! They make my day whenever I read them! 
> 
> There's some slight Peter/Michelle in this chapter, but nothing major and it can probably be read as platonic if you'd prefer. Aside from that, Peter receives the hugs he deserves.

“Dude, you _cuddled_ with Captain _freaking_ America.”

Peter’s face burned at the reiteration, half-regretting his decision to keep his best friend up to date on what happened at the Compound. But on the other hand, it was so cool—how could he _not_ share the story? Well, it’d be absolutely embarrassing if he ended up inconveniencing Captain America, but he figured the man could move or wake him up at any time. Probably in the politest way possible. That, and he hadn’t seemed anything but perfectly warm and amicable the next day, so the teen figured it was all fine and good.

“I know.” Peter busied himself with counting and recounting the small stack of money he held before scribbling down the total in his notebook. “I was there.”

“I bet he gives great hugs,” Ned continued, fiddling with some gadget Peter made in the Compound’s lab. “Have you ever hugged him?”

Wrapping a rubber band around the stack and placing it in a shoebox, Peter considered all the times Steve had placed a hand in his shoulder and the couple times the man ruffled his hair. And given how strong and warm Captain America was, Ned definitely had a point. “No, but now I want to. Do you think I could just… like, ask?”

Ned shrugged. “I mean, yeah. Aren’t you like, friends now?”

The question gave Peter pause, hands stilling as he shoved the shoebox under his bed. Well, they’d hung out a bit over the last couple months, got along well, and _Bucky_ called him his friend—a fact equally amazing and surreal, and one of few things Peter left out of his reports to Ned—so didn’t that mean he and Steve were friends? Friends with an Avenger… huh. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So cool,” his friend promptly gushed, and Peter threw a balled-up sock at his head. Turning the gadget off, Ned glanced towards where the shoebox was now carefully hidden. “It’d be easy enough to get the rest of the money by just selling pictures, but—”

“Better safe than sorry,” Peter finished, “since it’d be kinda suspicious if we show up with more than one or two.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Ned grinned. “You know, it’s kinda funny how much Jameson loves to hate Spider-man. He pays _really_ well for good pictures. Well, it’s not funny that he hates you, but…” He trailed off with a vague gesture.

Peter smiled in return—a gesture that hopefully reassured his friend that he wasn’t offended by the comment. “Yeah, I get it. It’s not like I really do this for approval, y’know?” Even if he’d briefly lost sight of his original goal—well, he didn’t need to mention that.

“So do you have a plan for the rest?”

“One of my neighbors is going on vacation, and I offered to walk his dog while he’s away. If I can find some other stuff like that, we should be good.” Hopefully, at least.

“Cool. Add onto that anything I can get, and we’ll be good.” Ned nodded, holding out his hand for one of their signature shakes.

“It’s a plan.”

“And don’t forget about that hug!”

“I won’t.”

***

Even though Peter said he wouldn’t forget, asking for a hug was easier said than done. Having forgone his days at the Compound during the week and last weekend, he felt a little sheepish when he came just for the day on Saturday, especially when he ended up sitting at the kitchen table doing homework while Steve cooked lunch and the others milled about. They chatted idly—stuff about school, recent missions, and a fair amount of teasing for Peter _forgetting_ about them.

“Did you have a hot date or something?”

“You always do your homework here anyway.”

“What could be cooler than hanging out with the Avengers?”

“I _was_ going suggest we have a movie night, but…”

“I have other friends,” Peter whined in his defense, ducking his head further into his textbook, close enough that he could hardly tell what he was even writing anymore. His phone buzzed, and he was more than happy for the distraction as he pulled it out of his pocket. He opened his messages to find a picture from Michelle that showed carefully splayed out assignments, all proudly displaying grades higher than ninety-eight percent. He smiled as he read the caption.

> **[from: MJ] I’m coming for your top spot, nerd.**

He was halfway through typing out a response when he jumped at Sam’s voice. “Is this how kids flirt these days?” he asked from where he hovered over the teen’s shoulder.

“ _Dude_ ,” Peter hissed, “privacy.” Swiftly, he finished and sent his response, and the reply came almost immediately as though Michelle anticipated it.

> **[to: MJ] doesn’t that make you a nerd too though**
> 
> **[from: MJ] Does it?**

If they had this conversation in person, Michelle would surely use that moment to walk away dramatically, so he figured that signaled the end of their exchange; besides, he didn’t want to give these wolves any more fodder to tease him with. Things were peaceful for a few minutes as the Avengers chattered amongst themselves and Steve served lunch.

Peter’s hopes for a quiet afternoon were soon dashed as soon as Tony entered the room. The teen could tell just by his footsteps that he was irritated about something, and while he prayed that it had nothing to do with him, it appeared as though luck wasn’t on his side that day. But then again, was it ever?

“Peter Parker,” Tony addressed the teen with unusual formality. Stopping in the middle of the kitchen, he pulled up a hologram from his watch, and Peter cringed and dropped his gaze to his plate when he realized what it was. “Do you happen to know what this is?”

Curious onlookers from both the kitchen and living room peered over to see the hologram: a news article titled **“Queens’ Public Menace”** with a picture of Spider-man underneath it. An unusually good picture of the vigilante, given how fast and how randomly he swung around the city. The pictures and videos people managed to get of him were most often blurry at best, and Peter greatly preferred it that way.

“Uh, well…” Peter offered a weak shrug as he poked at his food, the metal fork making soft clangs against the porcelain plate. Why couldn’t they do this in private? Though, he figured Tony must’ve rushed to find him as soon as he saw the article and put the pieces together. Probably uncaring about what else was going on. “That’s, um…”

Despite his hopes that someone would step in to save him, no one spoke up—all probably either too curious or too unsure of what was happening. Ultimately, Peter couldn’t blame them.

“How many people do you think could take this picture?” Tony continued, and the teen couldn’t decipher whether his tone sounded more angry or concerned.

Either way, it didn’t bode well for him. “Anyone… anyone with a good camera and enough patience?” Maybe not the best answer, but he would much rather avoid an impending lecture.

“Right, right. Why does it look like Spider-man is _posing_ for a picture?”

Only those especially familiar with his movements and postures would be able to tell; after all, Peter and Ned scrapped the photos that looked too intentional, then picked the two that looked the most candid while still having a good view. Peter just shrugged, shrinking in on himself.

Clint seemed to take pity on him. “What does this have to do with the kid?”

Tony shot him a look. “I’m just wondering why he’s selling pictures of Spider-man to a newspaper that does nothing but slander him.”

A fantastic question, really. All eyes turned to Peter, and Steve stepped forward with a hand in the air placatingly. “Tony, I’m sure there’s a good reason for it,” he defended, voice smooth and diplomatic. That didn’t stop the billionaire from glaring at him too before turning his attention back towards Peter.

“Jameson’s a good reporter…?” the teen tried as though he thought it’d help his case. “Not that I—that I agree with a lot of what he says, but, uh, he has way more integrity than most reporters, and I mean, y’know, it’s good to hear what other people think about… things.”

Tony sighed, rubbing his temple and evidently coming to his own conclusion. “Are you in trouble? Owe money to some bad people?”

Eyes widening, Peter straightened up in his seat, dropping his fork. “What? No! No, no, no, that’s not it.” The accusation caught him off guard, but he supposed he knew how questionable the situation probably looked. He’d really, really hoped that his mentor wouldn’t see the article; however, he resigned himself to the fact that Tony kept up on Spider-man news. It led to him finding out about injuries and incidents the teen hadn’t mentioned.

“Tony—” Steve attempted to cut in again.

“So there _is_ —” the billionaire spoke over him.

The hair at the back of Peter’s neck tingled—a brief warning before he heard a new voice. “Peter,” Bucky, despite not raising his voice, spoke with enough authority to shut the other two up as he rested his metal hand on the back of the teen’s wooden chair, “as long as you’re not in trouble and the picture was taken and sold with the consent of all involved, it’s no one else’s business, right?”

Peter picked up his fork just to fiddle with it. While a part of him was relieved that Bucky’s anger—something he could _feel_ , so palpable in the air that he thought he might choke on it—wasn’t directed at him, a much stronger part found himself concerned about the way it was directed at Tony. To Bucky’s credit, however, he remained calm, only pinning the billionaire with an icy glare. “I-I, uh,” Peter stammered.

It sounded like a rhetorical question. And like a polite way of telling Tony to back off.

Tony held Bucky’s gaze for a few long moments before sighing and dismissing the hologram. “If you’re ever in trouble,” he addressed Peter as he turned to leave, “tell me.”

Doing his best to ignore his sudden lightheadedness, the teen nodded, and Tony was gone. Clint whistled lowly.

“It was a good picture, kid.” Bucky ruffled Peter’s hair with his right hand. “Be proud. And eat your food before it gets cold.”

Easier said than done, considering Peter lost his appetite over the course of the conversation. He turned to frown at Bucky. “You didn’t have to do that.” Of course, he was grateful for it; after all, Tony had a habit of jumping to conclusions and assuming he was right. But he didn’t want Tony to take Bucky’s interference the wrong way either—the warning about him only having _one chance_ still felt incredibly fresh.

As Bucky sighed and patted his head, Steve stepped in. Peter frowned at him too. “Peter, just because Tony’s an authority figure, that doesn’t mean his actions are always right or justifiable. He shouldn’t have reacted so harshly before letting you explain yourself.”

“I know, I know.” Peter ducked his head. “But Sergeant Barnes… Mr. Stark said…” The two were already on such thin ice with each other without something like this, and the idea that Bucky could get kicked out because of him made the teen’s stomach twist into knots.

Bucky glanced at Steve with an eyebrow raised, to which Steve just smiled slightly.

“Barnes will be fine, Peter,” Natasha spoke up from her spot on the couch. “The agreement is that he’ll only get kicked out if he messes up and hurts someone, right?” She waited for the teen to nod before continuing. “That’s the exact opposite of what happened. He controlled his anger and dealt with it responsibly. Once Stark calms down, I’m sure he’ll realize he appreciates that Barnes is willing to stick up for you. Both of them just want to make sure you’re safe.”

Peter nodded again, his shoulders slumping. He went back to picking at his food. “Yeah.”

“So what, does Stark not pay you or something?” Sam asked after a brief silence as he stood to place his empty plate in the sink.

“No. No, no, he, uh, pays my school fees,” the teen explained. Though just about everyone went back to eating or reading like they had been before, he could tell they were still paying attention to the conversation. “That’s what we agreed on, so… and it helps May a lot. She, um—she had trouble paying them before.”

That was, after all, a large part of why his initial ideas of how to make use of his new abilities leaned more towards making money; now, he went back and forth between admonishing his own irresponsibility and reassuring himself that he had good enough reason for it, especially as he hadn’t planned on doing anything criminal. In retrospect, he wished crime-fighting had been his first choice—but hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

The answer seemed to satisfy Sam. At least, he didn’t comment on it and instead made his way towards the messenger board and picked up the pen next to it. Peter leaned over to see what he was writing.

No one wrote it before, likely due to not wanting to annoy Tony, but now, Sam scribbled in an unapologetic addition to the theory list: _Barnes’ friend._ When Clint got up to refill his coffee, he circled the note twice and drew a smiley face next to it as though to mark it confirmed, then walked over to ruffle Peter’s hair as the teen picked at his food. “Any chance you’ll share what the money’s for, or is it a secret?”

Peter hesitated, swallowing a forkful of food before responding. Well, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to tell them. “Our school has a field trip coming up soon. It’s out of state, so it, uh, costs more than the local ones.”

Clint leaned against the kitchen counter. “Is it not covered by your school fees?”

“I mean, it is, yes, but it’s also kinda separate since not everyone goes.” Peter cleared his throat. “But—but the money’s not for me. One of my friends… hasn’t been able to pay. It’s not usually a problem, but I guess her mom got in an accident and they’ve had to deal with insurance and stuff, so—they’re a little tight on money right now. So Ned and I just… thought it’d be cool if we could help out.”

Michelle played it off so cool that he only found out thanks to his enhanced hearing and wandering the halls when he wasn’t supposed to: he overheard her talking to the teacher about the issue. While she’d mentioned the accident before, he hadn’t realized until then that it affected so much.

A blush crept onto his cheeks at the few _aw_ s and teasing comments that followed, and he ducked his head as he finished up the last of his lunch, finding himself grateful when Steve asked an actual question. “And you don’t want Tony to know you’re doing this?” Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so hesitant to explain the situation when the billionaire accosted him.

“Uh, well… no?” Shrugging, the teen fiddled with his sweater sleeve. “Just ‘cause—‘cause I think he’d just give me the money if I told him, and,” he bit the inside of his cheek, “MJ’s not really a big fan of his. She’ll be mad enough that we’re helping her to begin with—she’s proud like that—without me using what she’d see as—I don’t know, blood money or something.”

Peter opted to ignore the way Sam and Clint chuckled at his phrasing, instead focusing on Steve’s understanding nod. “I’m sure she’ll be happy that you’re trying to help out,” the captain commented. Peter smiled at him.

Once Clint’s laughter died down, he asked another question. “Is Ned Spider-man?”

“No.” The image of Ned wearing Spider-man’s mask popped into his head, easy to picture due to the fact that he’d seen it more than once. “Ned’s my friend from school. Spider-man’s more like…” _…his alter ego._ Exactly like that, really.

“A work friend?” Clint guessed.

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Cause Mr. Stark made his suit and I’ve worked on it a bit since.” Peter made a vague gesture with his hand, and because it made for a good deflection, he added, “Same with the rest of you guys’ stuff too. I’ve looked at it all, at least.” There were points where he discussed new types of arrows with Clint and how Bucky’s metal arm worked, so he doubted this came as much of a surprise; still, he’d rather avoid special attention being drawn to him working on Spider-man’s stuff in particular.

Clint sniffed, and Peter couldn’t tell how serious the man was when he said, “ _We_ don’t get to meet Spider-man.”

“Do we _want_ to?” Sam retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Natasha’s lips quirked up into a sly grin. “I’m sure Steve would. He made me show him how Youtube works so that he could look up videos of the guy.”

“He has a lot of potential,” Steve defended half-heartedly. Peter quietly went about washing his dishes, more than a little lightheaded as he tried to process this new information. “He’s already impressive, and I look forward to seeing what he’ll accomplish.”

“Fanboy,” Bucky quipped.

And it was so _odd_ , considering how much Peter always looked up to Captain America, to hear those words coming out of his hero’s mouth. Very odd, and very satisfying. Once finished with his own dishes, he moved onto washing the other ones in the sink. Maybe if he kept his back to the team, they wouldn’t notice how red his cheeks were.

“What do you say, kid?” Peter stiffened when Sam drew attention back to him. “Think you could hook Cap up with a meet-and-greet?”

“I can—ask, yeah.” While Peter always had his suit with him, he rarely wore it at the Compound if for no reason other than to avoid being Spider-man at a place Peter Parker frequented; that might emphasize the fact that the two were never in the same room. But if Spider-man went to Brooklyn one day, then that shouldn’t be an issue.

“You don’t have to,” Steve assured with a smile that Peter felt like he should be paying money to see, “but I appreciate it.”

When the dishes were cleaned and put away with the captain’s help, Peter recalled his conversation with Ned the other day. “Oh, Cap—tain Rogers. Ned and I made a bet the other day—I mean, it isn’t so much a bet as he said something and I agreed, but anyway, you give great hugs, right?”

Apparently, he said that louder than he meant to, if someone muting the television was anything to go by. The question appeared to catch Steve off guard, but he recovered quickly. “That’s a matter of opinion, but I like to think so, yes.”

“I guess I should form my own opinion, then.”

And unsurprisingly, Ned was absolutely correct because Captain America’s hugs were _amazing_. Not only was Steve warm and strong, but Peter was pretty certain that he never felt safer than he did in that exact moment. If he were stabbed right then, he could die happy—not that Steve would let anything bad happen to him.

“We give great hugs too, you know,” Clint called once the two parted, and Peter shuffled into the living room as the team stood to greet him. Clint picked him up and spun him around like he apparently did with his children, Natasha gave him a solid, firm hug, Sam acted like the whole thing was bothersome but hugged him regardless, and Bucky gave him a one-armed hug followed by a noogie that Peter ducked away from, laughing.

Peter made a mental note to ask for hugs from the rest of the Avengers later.

***

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

The comment came so casually and abruptly that at first, Peter thought he must’ve misheard Tony. He looked across the room, screwdriver falling out of his hand as it went slack, and the billionaire glanced up at the sound. “What?” the teen asked, voice thick and dumb like he forgot how to comprehend language. He understood the words—had uttered them plenty of times himself—but to hear them from _Tony Stark_ was, well, a new experience entirely.

Tony rolled his eyes, continuing to work on upgrading his suit. “Don’t make me repeat myself. You know what I’m talking about.” For the most part, he sounded as cool and flippant as he always did, but Peter picked up on the slightest traces of hesitation.

Peter did know. When he wasn’t being a total idiot, he was actually fairly smart and observant; it didn’t take long to put together why the billionaire reacted the way he did, given his underlying tension resulting from Bucky’s presence—something he at least felt he couldn’t express directly due to his attempts to be more open and accepting. Peter didn’t know what went on between them, but he did know that displacement was a common coping mechanism. Tony saw something that seemed to warrant concern—and possible reprimanding—and latched onto it. Not the best thing to do, sure, but mistakes could be learned from.

 _It’s fine,_ he almost wanted to say; however, this didn’t seem like the right time to brush off issues like he normally did, nor did he want to dismiss the billionaire’s attempt to own up to his mistakes. “I forgive you,” he decided on instead.

Tony made eye contact with him, pursed his lips, and nodded thoughtfully before returning to his work. “Good talk, kid.”

And for once, it actually was.

***

When Steve asked Peter for help moving furniture around his apartment later in the week, the teen opted not to comment on his timing or the fact that the man was surely capable of doing it all himself. And while he didn’t feel like he earned the twenty dollars Steve gave him due to holding back his strength, he didn’t argue against it. He knew what the man was going for, after all, and he appreciated it.

“Buck works part-time at a mechanic shop near here,” Steve mentioned at one point when Peter asked about his whereabouts.

***

Apparently, Clint and his wife planned a romantic night out that weekend and their usual babysitter called in sick. Peter, despite being only a couple years older than their eldest child, was their backup, which he had no complaints about. In fact, he enjoyed the hours of movies and trying to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths—even if he intentionally missed most of the time.

Clint insisted that fifteen dollars an hour was a perfectly average rate. Peter doubted he needed to mention how responsible his kids were.

***

One day the next week, Sam dragged Peter down to the training room because, according to him, no one else was available to spar with him. The former airman offered five dollars and a juice box if Peter managed to land a hit, and fortunately, Peter had plenty of experience in holding back and acting tired thanks to gym class.

That didn’t stop him from eventually landing a punch to Sam’s shoulder, though they both played it off as a fluke.

***

Natasha heard about this and made Peter the same offer, but while the teen thought he _might_ manage it if he _weren’t_ hiding his secret identity, he failed during this particular sparring match. Plus, trying too hard ran the risk of the assassin noting similarities between his movements and Spider-man’s, which he’d much rather avoid.

She still bought him a juice box afterwards, and later that night, he noticed an extra ten dollar bill in his wallet.

***

Bucky offered to move all of Steve’s furniture around so that the captain would ask for Peter’s help moving it again, and the teen laughed as he declined. That didn’t stop Bucky from actually following through.

***

Every now and then, Tony brought up the subject of actual hourly pay, which Peter promptly denied each time. Maybe once he graduated, he insisted. When he called May to talk about the idea, she redirected the conversation towards college tuition, and the billionaire promised that it’d be covered as long as Peter kept up with his internship.

***

Between the jobs both Peter and Ned found, they ended up with what should be enough to cover Michelle’s field trip fund, though they weren’t sure how much she actually needed; if nothing else, they could split the difference as spending money.

While Peter wanted the envelope of money he brought to the office to remain an anonymous donation, he knew Michelle would figure it out easily enough, given how observant she always was and the fact that she already noticed that the two were up to something they refused to tell her about. He could see the gears turning in her mind when she arrived at their lunch table after their teacher pulled her aside, but she stayed quiet and read her book.

It wasn’t until the end of the day when Peter and Ned were the last two in the classroom, slowly packing up their stuff, that she confronted them. “Hey losers,” she greeted as she glanced between them. To Peter’s great relief, she didn’t seem upset—aside from her usual disinterested expression, at least. “How’d you get the money?”

Peter and Ned shared a look. “Pet-sitting and babysitting, mostly,” Ned explained. Peter nodded his agreement, neglecting to mention the Avengers’ role in their money-gathering. While he knew how she felt about certain people, he couldn’t tell whether her interest in conspiracy theories was born out of genuine belief or not, so he wasn’t sure if she’d approve of the superheroes’ involvement.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said with a scoff, and Peter thought about how many times he heard those words over the past few weeks. “So why did you?”

“Well, that’s…” Peter slid his last notebook into his back, zipped it up, and pulled the strap up to his shoulder. “Because we thought the trip would be more fun with you there? I’m sorry if we—if we overstepped any boundaries, but… yeah.”

Michelle nodded, silent for a moment before she pulled out the envelope and dropped it on the desk. “You made too much. I already paid off half of it.” When Peter did nothing but stare at the envelope, she gestured for him to take it. He obliged. “We can use the rest to go somewhere more fun than Boston.”

Ned beamed at them. “Sounds awesome!”

She rolled her eyes and gave them both hugs that she tried to pass off as apathetic, but Peter didn’t miss the way she squeezed him close.


	6. cap makes great eggs.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finally meets Spider-man once (or twice) more, but it doesn't go as well as he hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some (mildly graphic?) depictions of injuries in this chapter, so potential trigger warning for that! Also, I'm not a doctor.

For the sake of team bonding and to celebrate the return of Wanda and Vision, the Avengers decided that a movie night was in order. They gathered plenty of popcorn, snacks, and drinks, but though Steve hinted that there might be cookies, there were not—a minor disappointment that few team members actually cared about. Prior to that night, Sam and Tony came up with a list of possible movies, and Wanda and Vision were then told to pick the three that interested them the most. Then, they settled down in the common room to start watching.

Halfway through the first movie, Steve sat up and told Sam to pause it. Before he got the chance to explain that he thought he heard something, that something—or someone, rather—knocked at the window. And, well, everyone heard that. The team collectively turned their heads towards the floor-to-ceiling windows to see none other than Spider-man waving at them. A web wrapped diagonal across his torso like the strap of a bag. Some of the team waved back at him.

“FRIDAY,” Tony addressed his AI as he stood from the couch, “open the window for him.”

**“Yes, boss.”**

Though the window next to him slid open, Spider-man made no move to step inside, instead clinging to the glass with one hand as he lifted his web with the other. “Sorry to crash your party,” he dropped the web and the items stuck to it on the floor, “but I just swung by to make a special delivery.”

Steve peered over the couch to get a better look at what appeared to be weapons—ones he’d never seen before, but Tony and Rhodey appeared to be more familiar. “More of the Vulture’s scraps?” the billionaire guessed, nudging one with his foot.

That made sense. Steve and the rest of the team heard bits and pieces about the Vulture incident, though only Tony and Rhodey had any part in the cleanup. “Yup,” Spider-man confirmed, “which, the whole alien tech thing would be cool if people weren’t trying to kill me with it. Anyway, nice movie choice.”

“You are welcome to stay and watch with us,” Vision offered, polite as ever, while Steve nodded his agreement and Sam threw a piece of popcorn at the vigilante.

Spider-man caught it mid-air and threw it back without so much as a glance, tilting his head, and Tony shot Sam a look. The former airman dropped the piece into Bucky’s bowl. “I’d love to, but I gotta pick up milk before the store closes.”

Tony scoffed, lifting his arms halfway in a very _what do you take me for?_ sort of way. “I can just give you milk, kid.”

“And knowing me,” the vigilante retorted as he mimicked Tony’s gesture with his free hand, “I’d just break the jug on my way home.”

Clint apparently couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, Stark, you wouldn’t want to give the guy anything to cry over.” The comment earned him a few eye rolls and a finger gun from Spider-man, which he gladly returned.

“Get out,” Tony demanded exasperatedly as he returned to flop back down on the couch.

“Okay. Bye, everyone!” Spider-man waved, receiving a chorus of farewells in return, before he backflipped off of the window and began webslinging away.

“Say hi to Peter for us!” Clint called after him, and Steve just managed to hear a distant shout of acknowledgement as he recalled Peter mentioning that he wouldn’t be at the Compound that weekend.

Upon noticing how Bruce kept glancing over the back of the couch at the weapons splayed across the floor, Tony snapped his fingers and pointed towards the television screen. “Hey, Doc Green, we can play with the alien tech after team bonding time.”

Steve, pleased to see that the young hero was still doing well, had a harder time focusing on the movie after that.

***

That Friday afternoon seemed as good a time as any to swing by Brooklyn and see Cap, though Peter couldn’t quite put a finger on why; regardless, after school, a snack break at Delmar’s, and suiting up in his favorite alley, he made his way over to Steve’s neighborhood once he told Karen the address, since he wasn’t familiar enough with that area to find it himself.

When he arrived at the apartment to see no one inside, he suspected that he should have called ahead to make sure that Steve was even there, but he’d felt that knowing Bucky worked that day—which he may or may not have found out about via testing his hacking skills—was all the confirmation he needed that the captain was in Brooklyn. The two of them always travelled together, after all, and maybe Steve was just out on a walk somewhere. He did get restless from time to time.

Peter began his search in the direction of the mechanic shop Bucky worked at, then wandered a bit from there, dismissing Karen’s offer to scan the area for Steve. If nothing else, he enjoyed the excuse to explore a little, and it ultimately didn’t take very long to spot the captain walking down a lesser-used street, a bag in his hands signaling that he was on his way home from the grocery store. Peter landed on a signpost next to him. “Hey man. Making anything good tonight?”

Since it came to his attention that he may end up interacting with the Avengers both as Spider-man and Peter Parker, he added a new protocol to his suit that modified his voice when speaking to people familiar with him. Nothing drastic, just noticeably different without him making a conscious effort. He modeled it after the slightly deeper voice he used when speaking to his classmates at the Washington Monument.

Steve looked up to him, his brows raised in momentary surprise that he quickly recovered from. “Yeah, hopefully. I’m trying out a new recipe. You have any plans tonight?”

As Steve continued walking, Peter followed along—sometimes falling in step beside him, mostly jumping up onto whatever was higher than the pavement in a subdued version of parkour. It felt wrong to be moving this slowly as Spider-man. “Sounds great, but yeah, I have plans.” He and Ned were going to build a new Lego set—and eating with Steve would require taking his mask at least partially off, and he didn’t feel like risking that exposure. “Which—I’m kind of disappointed now. I’ve heard great things about your cooking.” And tasted them too.

Steve offered a smile in return. “Maybe some other time. What brings you out here?”

Shrugging loftily, Peter waited for the crosswalk light to turn green before jumping to the other side, then waited for Steve to catch up before speaking. “I heard I have some fans in this area,” not for the first time, he found himself grateful for the mask that hid his flushed cheeks as he forced the embarrassment out of his tone, “and figured, hey, might as well swing by. I’ve never signed an autograph before, but, I mean, if you want to trade, I’m game.”

Though pulling Spider-man’s wit and snarky comments out on someone he knew well made him want to cringe, he did his best to suffer through it, and fortunately, Steve appeared amused by the whole thing. And really, did anything else matter? “Sounds good. I have pens and paper at my apartment.”

To the extent of Peter’s knowledge, the captain often carried around a small journal and pen, but maybe he forgot it this time around. Or he just didn’t want to rip pages out of it. Or he meant to prolong their interaction? Either way, Peter saluted him. “Works for me, Cap. Honestly, I kind of wanted to ask when we were at the airport, but—well, you know. It didn’t seem like an appropriate time.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Steve’s smile turned a little strained. “Things are looking better, though.” Though he paused to reconsider, he seemed unable to contain his curiosity. “Were you ever registered under the Accords?”

Peter hesitated, almost missed his landing. “Well, I never signed anything, so…” Trailing off, he shrugged. Then again, he was a minor, so he didn’t think it impossible that someone else—probably Tony—signed for him instead. But could he do that without consulting Peter first? Politics and laws had never been his strong suit.

Steve nodded. They both knew how much trouble Tony could have gotten in for sheltering him from the Accords, but neither of them said it—it didn’t need to be mentioned. Nor did how much trouble Spider-man himself could’ve gotten in need to be mentioned. “Was there any particular reason?” the captain asked after a moment.

“Oh, you know, just…” Peter waved a hand around, the eyes of his mask narrowing. “My whole schtick is looking out for the little guy, and, well, I can’t really do that with a bunch of rules and regulations in the way. I’m, uh, sorry about the whole fighting you thing. But I’m not sorry about stealing your shield. That was awesome.”

“Stark shouldn’t have brought you to Berlin. It wasn’t your fight.”

“I know that. But I also know that he was just trying to do what he thought was right, so I’m—not mad about it.” For the most part, Peter preferred to just think about how cool it was to be around so many people he admired. That made him feel less conflicted.

“You’re a good kid,” Steve commented lightly. “It’s okay for you to be upset with someone when they make a mistake.”

A strong sense of déjà vu washed over the teen. Or perhaps that wasn’t the right term, considering the two had almost the exact conversation not long before. But Steve didn’t know that, and Peter just laughed it off. “Yeah, I know. I was just excited to be there, really, and to meet everyone.”

He jumped up to a sign, recognizing their surroundings for the first time in awhile—but he didn’t ask the question that popped into his head. It’d be suspicious if Spider-man knew everything that Peter did, even with the claim that they were friends. Sure, some things were fine, but he’d get in trouble if he spoke his mind too much.

Steve opened his mouth to change the subject; however, Peter didn’t pay attention to the words that came out. A tingle at the back of his neck snatched his attention away instead, and he glanced around briefly before moving on instinct: he jumped down and slammed into Steve, knocking them both to the pavement. He didn’t hear a gunshot or see a muzzle flash, but he heard the sound of a bullet hitting the sidewalk behind them. Vaguely, he could hear passersby around them panicking and scrambling to leave.

“We need to go,” the vigilante gasped, hair still raised. He attempted to stand up, only for the ground to rush up to meet him. If not for the strong arms that scooped him up and rushed him to the nearest alley, he would have slammed face-first into it. As Steve leaned him against the brick wall, Peter frowned at the concern etched into the soldier’s expression. “What—?” The pain hit him all at once when he followed Steve’s gaze—to see the fabric of his suit rapidly darkening. His breath hitched as Steve moved to shrug off his jacket, but he held up his hands to stop him.

 **“Peter,”** Karen spoke up, **“the impact of the bullet appears to have broken—”**

“Karen,” the vigilante cut the AI off as he wrapped webs around the wound to stem the flow of blood, “can—can you speak so that Cap can hear you?”

Her voice then came out of a small speaker in his left webshooter. Fortunately, he’d thought to set another protocol: don’t use his name when speaking around anyone but Peter or Tony. **“Of course, Spider-man. The impact of the bullet appears to have broken two of your ribs upon impact, along with striking your liver. I have alerted Mr. Stark of your injury, and a medevac is being prepared.”**

“You work fast,” Peter commented.

“Is there anything we can do now?” Steve asked as he glanced around them.

 **“The most important thing right now is to stop the bleeding.”** _Okay, check, cool, going well._ **“Based on Spider-man’s healing factor, I do not believe this injury to be life-threatening.”** _Alright, alright, nice._ **“Captain Rogers, is there a building nearby that the medevac can land on?”** she addressed the one who knew the area better.

Peter glanced up at Steve as the man hummed briefly in consideration before pulling out his phone. “The mechanic shop Bucky works at is a couple blocks from here. Its roof is large enough to land a helicopter on, so I can call and see if it’s okay.”

**“Please do.”**

As he watched Steve dial a number and talk to his friend, Peter tried to focus on taking deep, even breaths. His side hurt— _so, so much_ —but panicking about it wouldn’t do any good at the moment. Each time his ribcage moved, however, another jolt of intense pain shot his nerves, and he leaned his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to combat his dizziness. Something in his gut felt like jelly, which he hoped wasn’t his liver.

“Buck says it’s alright to land the medevac there,” the captain reported back after a moment, then moved to carefully pick up Peter once more, and though he grunted and whimpered, the teen didn’t protest, instead burying his face into Steve’s chest. “How long will it take?”

A moment passed. Steve began moving through the alleys, making sure to stay in places with plenty of cover. **“Twenty minutes,”** Karen reported. **“There is another problem. My scans do not indicate a sniper within a mile radius, and a shot fired from a normal weapon at a further distance most likely would not have injured Spider-man this badly.”**

Idly, Peter recalled telling Karen about his fights at the airport and with the Vulture, and how despite being thrown around and crushed so much, he ended up with fairly minimal injuries; she must have assimilated that information and used it to determine the probability of what would harm him and how much. While he doubted he could get shot without injuries of some greater-than-average extent, this felt a little—more than he might expect. This felt like he might as well have been shot point blank.

Which, given how much damage the bullet did at a great distance, made him feel luckier than he usually did.

**“It’s possible that an advanced weapon using a high-grade metal could have produced this result. I have informed Mr. Stark of my observations.”**

“Thanks, Karen,” Peter croaked out.

Upon reaching the shop, Steve greeted Bucky, who came outside to see them before leading the way up to the roof. Steve set Peter down against the short wall, to which he mumbled something that was meant to express gratitude, then knelt next to him to keep an eye on the wound. Bucky watched them. “So, rough day?” he asked.

The vigilante cleared his throat before attempting to speak again. “Someone tried to shoot Cap. I, uh…” _Jumped in the way instead,_ he conveyed by gesturing to the reddening webs wrapped around his torso. “S’okay, though. I heal fast.”

“That right? You sound like some punk I know.” Bucky snorted, apparently amused by the excuse, as he knelt down on the other side of Peter, who chuckled weakly in return. While Peter would’ve liked nothing more to pass out at that very moment, he understood the necessity of staying awake. “What happened? Bad day for Steve’s super soldier reflexes?”

“It was a sniper,” Steve informed him, somewhat distant. “Far enough away that I wouldn’t have noticed.”

 **“The medevac is five minutes out,”** Karen updated them.

After a brief glance at Peter’s wrist, Bucky looked back at the teen. “Then how’d you notice, Spider-punk?”

Peter groaned—unintentionally, of course. Had he ever mentioned how much he hated guns? Because he did. Very, very, very much. “I can—sense danger,” he managed to force out. A glance down and he saw that blood had successfully soaked through his webbing, so he focused on adding more on top of it because that sounded like something he’d heard in a first aid class once. But with bandages instead. “Like a sixth sense. Uh, spider sense.”

If it came a little sooner or if he hadn’t wasted a second looking around, he could’ve prevented _both_ of them from getting shot—maybe. But he did, at the very least, prevent Steve from getting hurt, and his own injury would surely heal in a matter of days. All in all, it could’ve been worse. Much, much worse.

From there, Steve and Bucky went back and forth asking more trivial and off-topic questions to keep him talking, and it sometimes took the teen a little too long to answer solely because he had to focus to avoid saying anything too Peter-esque. They didn’t draw any attention to it, though, and soon enough, the medevac arrived and landed on the roof near them. The wind whipped around them, and Steve did his best to shield Peter from it.

Tony Stark, naturally, was the first one to exit the helicopter, shortly followed by the medical team, and Peter just groaned in response to the billionaire questioning how he felt. Aside from tensing at the pain, he offered no resistance to being lifted and placed onto a gurney. Steve and Tony exchanged words as Peter was taken to the medevac before Tony climbed in after him. Weakly, the teen lifted a hand to wave goodbye to Steve and Bucky, since they made no move to follow.

The two returned the gesture. While Steve would’ve liked to go with them, there was no more room on the helicopter, so he could only hope that all went well. Bucky, as though reading his friend’s thoughts, patted his shoulder. “I’m assuming they’re going to the Compound’s infirmary, right? We can head up there once I get off work.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Sounds like the Spider-kid really saved your ass.” Bucky snorted. “And he sounds just like you. ‘I heal fast,’ is what you told me when I apologized for almost killing you on the helicarrier.”

Steve made a face. “You don’t think he’s an actual kid, do you?” While fully aware that Spider-man was young and people often referred to him as a kid, he didn’t know the vigilante’s age one way or another. Really, he could only hope that he was an adult; it was bad enough that Spider-man got hurt protecting him, but if he was a child…

“Do you think Stark’s crazy enough to recruit an actual kid?” Bucky countered with a shrug.

“It’s hard to say.” Steve hoped not. But with the billionaire’s track record for doing whatever the hell he wanted with no regard for others’ opinions, he couldn’t definitively rule it out.

A moment passed. “Anyway,” Bucky continued, “I can see why you like him so much. He’s like a smaller, stickier version of you.” Once more, he gave Steve’s shoulder a firm pat. “I have to get back to work. We’ll go up and check on him later.”

“Alright. Have fun.” Steve offered the best smile he could manage as they parted ways, and as the captain wandered back to his apartment, he made sure to stay away from open areas and kept his guard up in case the sniper made a second attempt on his life. Since Tony made it very clear that Steve needed to keep his head down for the time being, he did his best to wait patiently. Only once he was home did he notice the absence of his grocery bag.

In the end, everything stayed quiet until he and Bucky made it to the Compound later that night.

***

“The Spiderling’s fine,” Tony said by way of greeting as he intercepted Steve and Bucky outside of the infirmary, “but he needs to rest. You might wake him up if you go in now.”

Steve expected to hear good news upon arrival; after all, the wound didn’t seem too serious given the vigilante’s apparent durability and healing factor. Expectation, however, didn’t stop the relief from coursing through his veins at the confirmation. “That’s good to hear. Have you found out anything about the sniper?”

Nodding, Tony pulled a small bag out of his pocket to show off the bullet inside it—blood-tinged and dirty, but still in perfect condition. “Vibranium. I contacted our good friend T’Challa to ask if Wakanda was missing any, and he said that someone managed to steal some about a week ago. He’ll be coming in later tomorrow so we can investigate together. Teamwork, and all that. He already has a pretty good idea of who the thief is.”

“Between the two of you, I’m sure you’ll catch him soon enough. I almost feel bad for the guy,” Bucky commented lightly.

The billionaire glanced at him, his jaw momentarily tightening before he forced himself to relax as he pocketed the bag once more. “Thank you, by the way. I appreciate it—but if I sound annoyed, it’s because I’m exhausted, so I apologize for that in advance.” Steve could almost swear that Tony felt physical pain as he said those words. “As it turns out, we don’t have medicine that works on the kid. Couldn’t sedate him, no painkillers. Between having to hold him down while they patched him up and listening to him make jokes about getting shot, I’m…” He waved his hands.

Steve winced. “I’m sorry about this. I should’ve known better than to pick up a habit someone could take advantage of like this.” Already, he went over different routes he could take, different grocery stores to go to, anything to disrupt whatever pattern the sniper noticed.

“It’s not your fault, boy scout,” Tony dismissed the apology. “Like I said, I’m not mad. Well, not at you. Or Underoos. I’m just glad you’re both alive and relatively unscathed.”

Sighing, the captain nodded. The situation could have turned out a lot worse, certainly. He supposed he just had to wait and see what tomorrow held.

***

When Peter woke up the next day, he still felt like an omelet—his ribs being the broken shells and his insides the scrambled eggs. If the bullet or any shrapnel were still embedded in his flesh, then that would’ve been the filling, but alas, he was just a plain omelet—fortunately?

He opened his eyes to see May sound asleep in a recliner in the corner of his room, a blanket resting haphazardly across her lap. Smiling softly, he imagined how she must have been fussing over him the whole night, and he made a mental note to do something nice for her later to make up for the trouble. Before he could give it anymore thought, though, his stomach growled, and he winced in discomfort.

Right, right, food. He hadn’t eaten since before he saw Steve, so no wonder he was starving; his metabolism was fast enough normally, but with the extra energy required for his healing factor, it only left his stomach even emptier. Maybe his lack of proper sustenance contributed to the fact that there was still a definite hole in his chest. “FRIDAY,” he croaked, “what time is it?”

**“Seven o’clock in the morning. How are you feeling, Peter?”**

“Hungry.” He struggled to sit up, picking at his hospital gown and glancing towards the pile of clothes on his bedside table. The note on top— _In case the dress gets too breezy for you_ —made him smile. “Is Cap here?”

Now would be about the time that Steve cooked breakfast, which the AI confirmed. **“Captain Rogers is in the common room’s kitchen with Sergeant Barnes and Mr. Wilson.”**

Hastily, he stood to change into the oversized sweater and Hello Kitty pajama pants Tony left for him, but he paused when he remembered telling Steve that he wouldn’t be here over the weekend. But the temptation of a good meal ultimately outweighed his hesitation, and he turned his thoughts over to reasonable explanations for his presence that didn’t involve getting shot.

On his way out, he stopped to tuck his aunt in properly and press a soft kiss to her temple, then continued onto his destination—occasionally having to take a break to catch his breath. Maybe he should rethink his breakfast plans since Tony surely arranged something for him, but in the end, he evidently loved putting himself into difficult situations. Besides, as long as he sat still and didn’t do much, hiding his injury shouldn’t be too much effort.

Probably.

Walking to the common room took longer than he would’ve liked, but he made it soon enough. The kitchen’s occupants, who were just sitting down to eat, glanced up as he entered. He raised a hand, not quite a wave, and found himself regretting this decision. “Um, hi.”

“Hey, Peter,” Steve greeted him first, standing and waving him over to take a seat. The teen obliged, and Steve pushed his own plate of food to him. “Here, I haven’t touched it yet.”

“Oh, you don’t—I can make my own.” Not that Peter wanted to, but he didn’t want to force the captain to make himself another plate if there wasn’t already extra. He’d been hoping to make it before Steve finished cooking—which he might’ve, had he not needed to take so many breaks along the way.

Steve reassured him with a soft pat on the head. “It’s fine, son.”

Peter nodded, attempting not to focus on the sound of the captain cooking behind him while he ate. Breakfast was, as expected, delicious; if not for the way his chest hurt with every small movement, he likely would have inhaled it, but as it stood, he ate at a civilized pace.

“What’s with the pants?” Sam asked after a moment of silence passed.

“Oh, uh, Mr. Stark thinks he’s funny,” the teen mumbled, staring at his eggs, “but… I do kinda like them.” They were comfortable even if they were two sizes too big. The drawstring came in handy, to say the least.

They continued eating, but it didn’t take much longer for Bucky to voice the question that was surely on everyone’s mind. “So, what’s up? I thought you weren’t supposed to be here.”

As the other spoke, Peter took a large bite of eggs to delay his response. “Change of plans. I left some of my homework here, and it’s due on Monday. I, uh,” he shifted in his seat, “also heard about what happened, so…”

“Hard to say which is more of an emergency,” Bucky quipped, a reassuring smile tugging at his lips.

Peter snorted. “Yeah, not as dire as the time Mr. Stark and Doctor Banner blew up a whole stack of papers that I had to redo. I almost cried.” And yeah, sure, a hole in his chest wasn’t minor, but in the end, it did kind of affect him less than a stack of homework in terms of long-term consequences.

“Have you heard any updates about Spider-man’s condition?” Steve inquired as he plated his food and took a seat at the table.

Well, his broken ribs were slowly healing, and his insides were slowly feeling less and less like scrambled eggs. On instinct, Peter glanced towards Sam, who usually had some snappy comment whenever Spider-man came up, but the former airman stayed silent this time. “Yeah, he’s… good? I mean, I don’t think there’s much to worry about.”

“As long as he rests,” the teen looked towards Tony as the billionaire entered the kitchen with a dramatic sigh, “he’ll be good as new. If I hear him make one more comment about omelets, though, that might change.”

Good thing he kept his mouth shut about that part. Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Omelets?”

Tony went about brewing coffee, exasperated as he explained, “Something about his ribs being broken and his insides being scrambled. Wouldn’t shut up about omelets. I said it was too soon to be making jokes and he just responded, ‘But it’s been a whole _hour_.’ The doctors were still poking around in his wound.”

In Peter’s defense, he was in a _lot_ of pain and needed something to take his mind off of it, and making Tony suffer through his jokes and rambling turned out to be rather amusing. Maybe next time, they’d have medicine that worked—but there hopefully wouldn’t be a next time. Well, he supposed injuries were inevitable, given his chosen pastime. “Sounds about right,” he murmured, and truthfully, he couldn’t even remember most of what he said.

Steve frowned, apparently just as unamused. “When can we see him?”

“Whenever you want,” Tony replied, much to Peter’s dismay. But, well, then again, wouldn’t it be suspicious if he just said no? Wouldn’t it also raise questions if they went to visit Spider-man only to see the room empty? “I can’t guarantee he’ll be there, since he’s a flight risk who loves doing the exact opposite of what I tell him—he might be out swinging around or climbing up walls by now—but you can check.”

Though Steve raised a dubious eyebrow, he nodded nonetheless, and due to the fact that Peter could hardly walk around at the moment, he understood the disbelief. The thought of webslinging right now made him internally—and almost externally—cringe. Once Tony had his coffee, he left again, and Peter and the others finished their breakfast.

After all the dishes were placed in the sink, Bucky smiled at Peter. “Wanna come see the Spider-punk with us?”

 _No._ Peter fiddled with his sleeves, smiling despite remembering his phone and May still in his room. “Yeah, ‘course.”

As the four made their way to the infirmary, Steve and Sam chatted about the investigation into the shooting while Bucky and Peter trailed slightly behind them. Breakfast suddenly didn’t sit right in the teen’s stomach, and he considered his options. If they reached his—Spider-man’s—room and saw his aunt and personal belongings, his cover would be blown. Completely, irreversibly blown.

But surely Tony, genius he was, wouldn’t let them just stroll down there when he knew what could happen, so Peter held out hope that his mentor had his back.

As it turned out, his trust was well-placed. When they reached the room, they found it empty—no aunt, no phone, just an unmade bed and discarded hospital gown. Hanging from the ceiling attached to a web was a note that read, _“Thanks for everything, and sorry for the trouble!”_ in handwriting that closely mimicked Spider-man's. Steve pulled it down to read it, letting out an almost inaudible sigh. “I guess Tony was right.”

Absentmindedly, Peter reached out to fiddle with the webbing. Come to think of it, he didn’t know where his suit was, and the realization that he didn’t have any webshooters on his person made him feel weirdly naked all of a sudden. “This hasn’t been here for very long,” he said without thinking.

Sam stepped forward to examine it. “How can you tell?”

Willing away the heat rising to his cheeks, the teen shrugged. “It dissolves after awhile. Usually about two hours, but this doesn’t look like one of the stronger formulas.” No, this was thinner and broke easier than most of his webbing—not something he usually had much use for, more of a prototype than anything else. But when he wanted to leave notes for May, he’d keep it in mind.

The dissolving fluid also meant that Sam’s complaints about _picking spider web out of his suit for weeks_ were entirely untrue. “I thought the stuff came out of him,” the former airman commented.

Peter frowned. “Ew, no, that’d be gross.” Everything about that sounded disgusting. If he shot web out of his actual body, wouldn’t he need orifices for that? And would that require—no. Gross.

For what seemed like the first time all day, Steve chuckled softly. “Well, I just hope this means he’s feeling better.”

The teen turned to smile at him. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll see him around.”

***

Under the guise of needing to finish his homework, Peter excused himself to take a nap. May sat in his room reading, and upon him entering, she stood to give him a gentle hug. “How are you feeling?” she asked, smoothing his hair.

“A little less like an omelet,” he reported with a weary chuckle. “King T’Challa is coming in this afternoon, so I wanted to, uh, sleep for awhile before then and—well, I’m not sure if there’s really anything I can do to help, but I still wanna be there. I asked FRIDAY to wake me up when he gets here.”

May smiled. “Okay, sweetie. Rest well.”

And he did. The moment his head hit his pillow, he was out like a light.

***

After the initial polite greeting, Tony dismissed Peter and shooed him away from the investigation, though the teen’s indignation didn’t last for long. Shuri expressed interest in seeing the labs, and Tony volunteered Peter as a tour guide, which he happily accepted. He had more trouble keeping up with her because she moved with more energy than the adults, but he did his best to brush off his wheezing as asthma.

If this were a year and a half ago, it wouldn’t be a lie. When he ended up collapsing onto the lab’s couch—an addition he insisted on—he couldn’t come up with a reason why he didn’t have an inhaler, paling as he watched Shuri search the area for one. She paused and gave him a knowing look before demanding, “Lift up your shirt.”

Peter complied mostly out of fear, only to frown when he noticed spots of red appearing, a stark contrast against the white bandages. Suffice to say, the two took a detour to the infirmary, where he explained the whole Spider-man thing and the fact that only Tony knew about his secret identity. As it turned out, she was cool with it all, and she promised not to tell anyone.

Shuri then brought up an excellent point. “If you do not want the others to know you’re hurt, then why not just stay in your room?”

A question he’d asked himself several times now, really. “Because Cap makes great eggs? And my hunger outweighs rational thought. In my defense, I took it easy and excused myself when I had the chance.” If nothing else, this made good practice for when he had the same conversation with Tony later on.

An exaggerated eye roll indicated her opinion of his actions, but they soon returned to discussing tech and science. A few hours later—and after many apologies on his behalf for not being able to give her a proper tour—T’Challa called for Shuri, and she returned to the common room with Peter trailing behind her. “Can we take Peter to Wakanda with us?” she wasted no time in asking her brother.

The point-blank question took everyone by surprise—except for T’Challa, who was more than used to his sister’s antics. “When I said you could bring back a souvenir,” the king said, “I meant something like a keychain or a magnet. You can’t steal Stark’s intern without permission.”

At that, Shuri turned her attention towards Tony, who looked pointedly at Peter. “I-I, well, I have school and stuff, but maybe—when I have a break?” Visiting the coolest place on Earth sounded amazing, but he suspected that she may have ulterior motives that involved poking and prodding.

She appeared satisfied enough with that answer. “That can be arranged.”

From there, Tony updated him on the situation: they’d finished the investigative stage of the process, figured out the thief and who he sold the weapon to, and planned out the apprehension. It only further proved in his mind how powerful these people were, especially when they worked together.

Tony even managed to prevent the incident from garnering much media attention.

***

The next Tuesday, Steve took a long walk around Brooklyn. The investigation and consequent arrests went smoothly—better than he generally expected, really—and while that and Spider-man’s reported health came as a relief, he still couldn’t help but worry about how the young hero was handling the whole situation. Getting shot wasn’t fun, after all, and there were other problems that it could cause aside from the physical.

He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, and eventually, a commotion in an alley drew his attention. When he arrived to survey the situation, he saw what appeared to be a standard mugging—one man cornering another with a knife—but before he could step in, he heard a familiar _thwip_. A web shot down from above to stick the assailant’s hand and weapon to the wall, and the victim took the chance to run off in the other direction.

“You should be thanking me.” Steve and the assailant both looked up to see Spider-man crouching on the edge of the roof. “The good Cap would’ve given you more to worry about than a dirty alley wall.”

The thug glanced behind him, only to struggle more upon seeing Steve, and the vigilante flipped off the building and landed behind Steve. Despite the mask, the soldier could all but see the smile on his face. “Queens,” he greeted, lips quirking up. “How are you feeling?”

Spider-man straightened his posture and patted his side where the wound was. “Like a fresh, undamaged egg, sir. And you?”

“Good, good.” Steve reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a small notepad and a pen. “You still want to exchange autographs?”

The young hero perked up, bright as can be, and Steve wondered if he perhaps had less to worry about than he assumed.


	7. of course.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grieving is tough, but at least Peter isn't alone.

Over the past few months, Steve got used to certain things around the Compound: keeping a careful eye on Bucky and Tony in case he needed to intervene and stop an argument, juice boxes in the fridge because Sam insisted that Peter got cranky without them, Natasha keeping track of when the kid came by so that she knew when she could lounge about the common room with her spider, movie nights and having to clean popcorn off the floor afterwards, the way Tony kept a careful eye on Peter’s well-being, how much Peter seemed to enjoy physical affection despite rarely initiating it, and other various, little details that he might have started taking for granted.

These little details were like background noise—natural things that he didn’t actively pay attention to. He did, however, notice when they weren’t there.

Typically, when Steve placed a hand on Peter’s shoulders or ruffled his hair or hugged him, the teen relaxed into the touch and smiled at him. That day, when he came home late in the evening from a mission to find Peter talking to Bucky in the kitchen—specifically, Peter at the counter shoving stuff into his backpack and Bucky at the table eating—and patted the teen’s shoulder in what had become his standard greeting, he received the opposite reaction.

Peter tensed and ducked his head, and though he forced a smile, it came out more nervous than anything. “Oh, uh, hey,” he forced out.

For a brief moment, Steve wondered if he’d perhaps surprised the teen; however, outside of when Peter focused intently on his projects in the lab, he’d never known anyone to be able to sneak up on him, and the soldier hadn’t exactly been quiet in his arrival. He withdrew his hand as he exchanged a quick glance with Bucky, who quirked an eyebrow at Peter’s abrupt change of demeanor. Wondering if maybe he’d done something to upset him, Steve asked, “Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Everything’s—everything’s great.” Peter’s tone couldn’t be less convincing if he tried, but that didn’t stop him from waving his hands in an attempt to dismiss the subject. “How—uh—I should… go. Happy’s probably waiting for me, and he gets annoyed when I’m late, so, um…”

Without giving either man a chance to say anymore, Peter grabbed his backpack and a juice box from the counter and rushed out of the kitchen. Steve stared after him, more than a little dumbfounded by what just happened. “That was weird,” Bucky summed up, deadpan and succinct.

Steve had seen the kid anxious and tired before, but _that_ —that didn’t quite seem to fit in with either. “Was he upset before?” With a sigh, he turned and leaned against the counter, and he tried not to let his thoughts roam too far. There was probably a reasonable explanation, which included that Peter was fifteen years old and teenagers didn’t always make sense.

Shrugging, Bucky finished eating before he hummed in consideration. “Maybe a little more fidgety than normal, but he seemed fine enough. If you did anything to bother him, I wasn’t around to see it.”

Well, if it was something he did—which he couldn’t rule out despite not being able to think of anything out of the ordinary—he supposed he’d just have to handle it and apologize if necessary. But maybe—hopefully—it was nothing.

***

It was an odd week. Typically, Peter came by the Compound either a weekday or two or over the weekend, never both; however, Tony was excited to show him some new designs he came up with, so Peter made dinner early to leave in the fridge for May and did his best to finish his homework during the car rides with Happy—as opposed to when he’d usually watch the scenery flash by outside the window or annoy Happy with endless questions. Odd, but Peter ultimately found himself eager for a distraction from his usual routine.

But in the end, it seemed that he was too distracted. Peter didn’t notice when he cut his finger open with the tool until he heard Tony’s startled snap. “Christ, kid, you’re bleeding all over the circuit board!”

Before he could process the words or his injury, the billionaire crossed the threshold of the lab, grabbed a debatably clean towel, and pressed it against the cut to stop the bleeding. Then, Tony took Peter’s other hand and moved it to hold the cloth in place while he went searching for something. “Um, thanks,” the teen managed eventually. Working on engineering projects was supposed to distract him—but apparently, it didn’t stop his mind from wandering.

Tony returned to his side a moment later with a first aid kit in hand, and Peter wondered idly if he should mention his healing factor. A wound that shallow would be fine in no time, but that didn’t stop the billionaire from proceeding to treat it with diligent care. “I think that towel had oil on it,” he muttered, half to himself. “Hopefully it won’t give you an infection. It was the cleanest one in here. Have you ever gotten an infection?”

Shaking his head, Peter forced himself out of his daze. “No, uh, not that I remember.” If he had, his healing factor took care of it too quickly for him to notice. “It’s been a long time since I’ve… gotten sick or anything like that.” And he’d had plenty of cuts and scrapes that he didn’t clean properly, though those were fewer and farther between now that May knew about the whole part-time vigilante thing. She always checked him for injuries when he came back from patrolling.

Tony nodded, seeming to file that information away for later as he wrapped the cut with more band-aids than strictly necessary. Granted, Peter didn’t think _any_ were necessary, let alone three. “Good, good. Anything you need to get off your chest? You’re usually not this clumsy.”

“I…” Peter bit his lip. Far too used to keeping his problems to himself and suffering through them alone, he hesitated to open up, especially when it wasn’t something he could help. He knew how much Tony worked to fix whatever problems he saw; as a man of science and engineering, he did his best to find solutions. But sometimes, things just _were_ and that couldn’t be solved. Maybe something could be, though. “I was kinda rude to Cap the other day,” he admitted, “and I’m just… worried he might be mad at me?”

That wasn’t like Steve, and they both knew it. “Kid, Cap’s a lot of things, but I highly doubt he’d be mad at you.” Tony snorted and rolled his eyes like he couldn’t fathom the concept. “Should I add this to the file? That you apparently got bit by a venomous spider?”

Peter sighed. “No. I mean, it was more that I brushed him off, not—not that I _said_ anything rude. And I might’ve lied to him a little.” Nothing beyond his typical insistence that things were fine when they weren’t, but that still counted as lying. Well, that, and the fact that Happy had not, in fact, been waiting for him. It just came out as a convenient excuse.

For a long moment, Tony watched him, analytical. “If Captain Righteous gets to lie every now and then, you can too. No one’s gonna condemn you just because you got a little attitudinal. We’re all human. Making mistakes and learning from them is a part of the job. If you’re that worried, just talk to the guy.”

“I know, I know.” Shrugging, Peter stared down at the band-aids now coating his finger and poked at them softly. The cut was shallow enough that the pain didn’t even register; it certainly didn’t compare to being shot. “Just… maybe a little later.”

“Sure. Take whatever time you need.” Tony offered a smile, somewhat awkward and somewhat strained. “Anything I can do for you now?”

Another shrug. Peter knew that all the emotional stuff wasn’t the billionaire’s area of expertise, and he knew that Tony’s way of coping with such things might make him feel worse; at any other time, he might’ve taken the chance and risked it—could be a learning experience for them both—but… not with this. With this, he might slip up and say something he regretted, and there were certain things he didn’t want to hear. “I could use some fresh air,” he decided after a moment.

“Of course. I’ll be here when you get back.”

A grateful smile pulled at the teen’s lips, and as he watched Tony repack and put away the first aid kit, he quietly excused himself and made his way outside.

***

Every now and then, Wanda liked to take walks around the Compound, both to get some fresh air and to refamiliarize herself with the layout after months away; she found that she enjoyed both the scenery and watching other people move about. At times, she caught sight of interesting interaction that left her thinking, and other times, she smiled at the familiar shenanigans she witnessed. Some of it was bittersweet—watching the Avengers banter and mess around often reminded her of Pietro, of the way they teased each other.

Pietro would be happy to know that she discovered a second family in the Avengers, she reminded herself, but it hurt to know that he’d never have to chance to experience the same thing. Perhaps he had for a brief time. But he’d never know it again. Ultron ripped that chance away from him, and for a while, Wanda thought it’d be impossible to live without him.

Taking a deep breath, she returned her focus to her surroundings, only to find something particularly unusual: Tony Stark’s intern sitting upside-down on a bench. Was he… sleeping? She squinted a little as she approached, noting how his eyes were closed; however, they fluttered open once she stepped closer. “If you sit like that,” she said by way of greeting, “all the blood will rush to your head and it will pop.” She recalled her parents telling her that as a child, though Peter’s face wasn’t the least bit red. Had he just sat down?

She hadn’t interacted much with Peter—mostly watched from the side as he spent time with the others—but based on the bright, genuine smile he gave her when they were introduced, she decided that she enjoyed his presence. Certainly, watching Tony almost dote on him at points made her question whether or not the man she hated so much growing up ever truly existed. With a sheepish grin, Peter sat upright, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, well, it’s just… relaxing sometimes.”

Returning the expression with a smile of her own, Wanda sat down next to him. When he dropped his hand back into his lap, she noted the band-aids around his finger. “Are you alright?” she inquired with a delicate nod towards his hand.

“Oh, yes, it’s just a scratch.” Based on his brief confusion and the way he glanced down, she suspected that he might have even forgotten about it. “Mr. Stark just went a little overboard wrapping it before he—well, I guess I kicked myself out of the lab. Got distracted, so… yeah.”

“When we were young,” her expression shifted into something a little more wistful, “Pietro would fret over me any time I was hurt, then tease me later for being overdramatic. It was silly.” Even now, whenever she got even a minor injury during sparring or a fight, she could hear her brother’s voice saying the same things as he used to. But she had to bandage her own wounds. Sometimes, she looked in the mirror and teased herself.

He stared down at his lap as he fidgeted with his hands. “My uncle always took injuries seriously. I was… kind of a weak kid, so I guess that made him extra protective. May is—well, she’s a little overprotective, but she’s not too overbearing about it.”

Sometimes, people looked so bright and cheerful that it didn’t occur to Wanda that they could be hiding such turmoil; however, the use of past tense and his solemn, listless expression revealed an emotion she’d grown far too familiar with—grief. It made her fingers twitch, the old desire to look into people’s heads and see their thoughts for herself reigniting. But she didn’t do that anymore, she reminded herself as she folded her hands together. “How long has it been?” The question left her mouth before she could think twice about it, and she quickly added, “If you do not mind me asking.”

“About a year.” Peter forced a tiny, sad smile. “The, uh, anniversary is coming up. Next week.”

That sounded difficult, yes. Wanda recalled the anniversary of Pietro’s death—not too long ago—and how she’d been a complete wreck. Gingerly, she reached a hand out to rest on his shoulder, her movement slow to give him a chance to move away should he not appreciate the contact. “If there is anything I can do to help, let me know. I know that this is a hard time.”

A more genuine smile tugged at his lips as he looked back up at her. “Thanks, and, uh, same to you. If nothing else, I’m a good listener.”

“How many times do Stark and Captain Rogers have to remind you to finish your homework?” she jested, giving Peter’s shoulder a gentle pat before returning her hand to her lap.

She smiled at the way his face flushed. “It’s easy and I always get it done,” he defended. “But in… other contexts, I’m a better listener than—well, that. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do.” They lapsed into silence, and after a several long moments and a thoughtful hum, Wanda broke it. “There is a clearing in the forest not far from here. I find it nice to sit there and listen to the birds and crickets. If you’d like, I can show you.” She certainly found it more relaxing than being surrounded by buildings and technology, by all the people milling around as they went about their business. Sometimes, it helped to just sit there and clear her mind.

Peter thought it over briefly before nodding. “Sure, I’d like that.”

***

Throughout the day, Steve kept himself busy with reports and paperwork; when it was about time to start winding down, he picked up the files meant for Tony and headed down to the lab to deliver them. At first, he was surprised to see the man alone but not blasting music, though when he entered the room, it made a little more sense. The couch—which he’d questioned the presence of the first time he saw it, considering Tony was notorious for staying up for days on end—was currently occupied by a sleeping teenager, one of Tony’s blazers draped around his shoulders.

Steve cleared his throat softly to draw the billionaire’s attention away from whatever gadget he was working on, then set the files on the table for him. “Do you need anything else?”

Mumbling his gratitude, Tony glanced around the lab—at the glass of water set to the side, a half-finished snack, and finally at Peter. “If you’re going back upstairs, can you take the kid to bed?” he requested. “He probably shouldn’t be sleeping on the couch.”

Peter slept on couches rather often, though the ones in the common room were bigger and more comfortable than this one looked; that, however, was not something the soldier would mention. He shifted his weight, recalling the other day. “Are you sure? He might not be too happy to see me.”

“So I heard.” Tony waved a dismissive hand. “Either he doesn’t wake up and it’s not an issue, or he does and—well, if he wants to talk, he’ll talk. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

While Steve wanted to ask if Tony knew what was bothering Peter, he figured that was something he should ask the teen himself. With a soft sigh, he nodded. “Alright, I’ll take him.” He approached Peter and carefully gathered him into his arms, a little surprised when he didn’t wake up; then again, he heard that Peter and Wanda went exploring in the woods that afternoon, so maybe he was just exhausted from that.

“Be careful not to smack his head against any doorframes,” the billionaire advised as Steve turned to leave, to which the soldier lightheartedly scoffed. Considering how Peter’s head rested against his chest, that’d require Steve to walk straight into the doorframe himself. His _feet_ , on the other hand…

The walk to the elevator was fairly quiet. Steve listened absentmindedly to the sound of the teen’s soft breaths, the footsteps of passing security guards and agents, the beep of the elevator’s call button—which he used the teen’s foot to press. Good thing the buttons were sensitive enough that he didn’t have to press too hard. About halfway through the elevator ride, however, Peter began to stir. “Oh, hey man,” he mumbled, and though he glanced around and wiggled his feet a little, he made no move to get down.

“Hey,” Steve greeted. Since the teen just smiled a little and didn’t say anything else, the rest of the ride went by in silence, and the soldier found himself grateful when they didn’t pass anyone else on the way to Peter’s room, which he realized somewhat distantly he’d never been in before. The college level textbooks and tech piled on his desk didn’t surprise him, nor did the few shirts scattered on the floor—all in all, it was about what he would expect from Peter.

Halfway across the threshold, Peter cleared his throat and pointed towards the en suite bathroom. “Uh, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.” And so, Steve set him down so he could go do that, but before he could say good night and excuse himself, the teen spoke up again, lingering in the doorway. “The couch is, um, supposed to be for Mr. Stark. I’ve tricked him into sleeping on it a few times.”

It sounded like an invitation to stay and chat, so Steve leaned against the wall and listened to Peter brush his teeth. “That’s an impressive feat.” As restless as Steve got sometimes, Tony was far more stubborn in that regard. He knew that Pepper would occasionally change FRIDAY’s protocols in an effort to force Tony to go to bed, which inevitably started something of a war between them; despite that, Pepper usually had the most luck in convincing him.

“Yeah,” the teen mumbled around his toothbrush, then continued once he finished and rinsed his mouth out. “If I complain enough, he’ll sit down and tell me stories, and sometimes he’ll fall asleep in the middle of them.” Steve couldn’t help but chuckle softly as he visualized this happening. A moment later, Peter returned to lean against the doorframe, staring down at his hands as he twisted his fingers together. “So I’m, uh, sorry about the other day—if I upset you or anything like that. I just… panicked a little is all.”

Panicked? Of all things, that wasn’t the explanation that Steve expected, though maybe it would make sense with more context. “What did you panic about?” If it was something he did, he’d like to know so that he could avoid it in the future.

Peter swallowed thickly, taking a few deep breaths before he answered. “Well, it’s—it’s been almost a year since my uncle died, and… anniversaries are a lot. I’ve been a little on edge and just—thinking about him more than usual, I guess? I mean, I think about him every day, but it’s been more prominent and…” He gestured vaguely. “Bittersweet, I think’s the word. You, um—you kinda remind me of him. So I guess it was kinda like seeing a ghost.”

Steve recalled the name Ben, the way the teen mumbled it in his sleep but never mentioned the man when he was awake. That must be his uncle, then. He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “I can see where that’d be difficult.” As someone who’d dealt with his fair share of loss, he understood better than he would’ve liked. Sometimes, things that were reminiscent of the lost were too painful to deal with.

“He was a military man too,” the teen continued, smiling a little. “Stern but loving, took care of the people around him, knew when to break the rules and when to follow them. He always said that everyone has the power to affect those around them—people, the world—and that with great power comes great responsibility. He taught he a lot, even when I was too dumb to listen.” A nearly inaudible laugh escaped him. “You’re a much better cook, though. We went out a lot for dinner. He insisted he was on a quest to find the best pizza in New York, but it was just ‘cause he set our oven on fire so many times.”

Sometimes, Steve thought about the family and the life he gave up on the chance of having; more than once over the past few months, he wondered if Peter’s presence around the Compound was what having a son was like—the warmth and sense of fulfillment as he watched the kid interact with everyone. Being compared to Peter’s uncle made him feel a little odd, but not in a bad way. “Sounds like he was a pretty great man,” he commented lightly.

“Oh, he was the best. I wish you could’ve met him.” Peter’s smile brightened, only for it to falter as his cheeks reddened. “But, uh, I don’t—I mean, you remind me of him, yeah, but I don’t really think of it all that often. Sorry if that sounds weird, just—I don’t mean anything weird by it. Just with the anniversary coming up and all, I’m a little—super aware of it.”

Steve was quick to reassure him. “It’s fine. I understand, and if there’s anything I can do to help, just met me know. Dealing with grief, whether it’s been one year or fifty, is never easy, but you don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Wanda said the same thing—well, more or less.” The teen chuckled once more before sighing, though a soft smile remained. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can _do_ , but… just knowing you guys—you, Mr. Stark, Wanda, everyone—care does make me feel a little better. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Anytime you want to talk, you know how to find me.” Somehow, Steve had the sneaking suspicion that Wanda said something along those lines as well, though it was a pretty standard sentiment. “Do you have any plans?”

Peter nodded. “There’s this one little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria that Ben really liked, so May and I are gonna go there and get takeout on our way to visit his grave. A little simple, but it _is_ a school night, so…”

“It sounds perfect,” the soldier soothed. “Is there anything I can do before you go to bed?”

“No. I mean—well. If you don’t mind, can you, uh—can you just stay until I fall asleep?” As he spoke, the teen shifted his weight between his feet, biting his lip as he waited for an answer.

Steve’s expression softened. “Yeah, I can do that. Have any stories you’d like to hear?”

Perking up a little at the question, Peter finished getting ready for bed while he thought it over. Once he was under his covers with Steve sitting by his knees, he had his answer. “Something you and Sergeant Barnes did when you were kids.”

 _You can call me Bucky._ The words always echoed in Steve’s head when he heard that particular way of addressing his friend, and he brushed the thought away with a smile. “Sure. This one time when I was twelve…”

***

“Is the kid still mad at you?” Bucky asked when Steve walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. He didn’t look up from the cards on the table, and Sam sat across from him, equally focused on winning whatever game they were playing.

Steve watched for a moment before giving up on figuring it out. He was too tired for that. “No, he’s not.”

“You’re getting sloppy, old man,” Sam chided as he played a card, which the captain interpreted to mean that Bucky was currently losing. Steve sighed, wishing them both a good night before going to sleep himself.

***

When Peter arrived at the lab the next morning, Tony held out an arm expectantly. The teen raised an eyebrow, then cracked a smile once he deciphered the meaning of this strange occurrence. “I thought we weren’t there yet.”

“We’re not,” the billionaire was quick to deny, yet he didn’t lower his arm. “It’s just important to me that you know I give better hugs than the rest of those morons.”

Though Peter briefly wondered what brought this on, he decided that the reason didn’t matter as he stepped forward to accept the embrace. All that mattered was how warm and comfortable it felt, and he did his best to memorize this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by me reading Uncle Ben's Wikipedia page and thinking, "Man, he sounds a lot like Cap. No wonder Peter is also a lot like Cap."
> 
> Peter and Wanda hugged off-screen. Since I don't think she has an actual canon age, I'm putting her in her early twenties, around twenty-one or twenty-two-ish.


	8. osmosis.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes questionable decisions when he's hungry at three in the morning.

“So the dodgeball was headed right for my face, right? And then I dodged to the left—and it was all smooth and like slow-motion. I bet I looked cool ‘cause I felt really cool.”

 **“I’m certain you looked awesome, Peter,”** Karen’s soothing voice concurred.

Peter hung from his room’s ceiling, a string of web clutched between his feet as he spun in slow circles and told Karen about his day at school. One hand rested on the back of his neck while the other fidgeted absentmindedly with the earpiece the AI’s voice came out of. Since it occurred to him how useful it’d be to be able to use Karen without his suit’s mask on—and because Tony could talk to FRIDAY via his glasses—he spent a lot of lab time developing a wristwatch that could run her programming. And naturally, it doubled as a web-shooter.

“I hope MJ saw,” the teen continued, a somewhat wistful sigh escaping him. He watched his blank walls drift by and absentmindedly considered buying a few posters to put up. “I mean—she was across the gym, so probably not. And does it even count as me looking cool if MJ didn’t see?”

**“It counts. There are surely other times she’s seen you look cool.”**

“I don’t really try to… I mean, I’ve never been cool, so even if I could be now, I shouldn’t.” Because he was different now but didn’t want people to know—something he’d surely mentioned to Karen before during their late-night chats. But that didn’t stop him from wanting Michelle in particular to think he was cool. “Anyway, I should really—uh, really get better at controlling my reflexes like that. I can only pass it off as a fluke so many times.”

Times like these made it clear that Karen was programmed to comfort and encourage him. **“There is no universal definition of ‘cool,’ is there? Perhaps what Michelle thinks of as cool differs from what you do.”**

“Yeah, you’re right. MJ’s cool because she doesn’t go along with what everyone else thinks.” Among other things, but—well, Karen had heard him talk about the subject plenty of times by now. Surely, the AI kept an alphabetized list of things he liked about Michelle. Before he could launch into a complaint about Flash’s reaction to the dodgeball incident, something else distracted him, and he took a deep breath to confirm. “Hey Karen, do you smell cookies?”

Of course not. In a literal sense, Karen couldn’t smell anything, but she _did_ have limited access to FRIDAY’s security system, enough to tell him who was in the common areas. **“It appears that Sergeant Barnes is in the kitchen,”** she reported.

Without much thought—too distracted by the sudden rumble of his stomach—he climbed from his web to the ceiling and snuck out of his room. But while tempted by the thought of cookies, he had no intention of interacting with anyone; after all, if Bucky was baking at three in the morning, he probably didn’t want to be bothered. No, Peter only meant to take a peek and grab some snacks out of the cabinet without being seen.

Maybe he should talk to Tony about the possibility of getting a mini fridge for his room.

Since Peter began using middle of the night snack runs for stealth practice, he became increasingly good at moving without making a noise; however, at the Compound, he avoided doing so when others were awake, so the only stakes he was used to was not waking May up at home. Nonetheless, he felt confident enough to take the risk. Soundlessly, he crept across the hallway ceiling towards the common room, and once he arrived to a safe observation point, he peered into the kitchen to see Bucky leaning against the counter near the oven, sipping a cup of coffee as he waited for the cookies to bake.

Despite his best attempts to discern whether or not the man looked troubled, Peter couldn’t read Bucky’s expression, especially at the odd angle. The distraction didn’t serve him well, however, and he found himself cursing his fast metabolism when his stomach decided to remind him once more that he hadn’t eaten in several hours. The sound was just loud enough to garner attention, so he hastily made his way down to the floor before Bucky could walk out and see him on the ceiling. That wasn’t a mistake he intended to make again.

Quick but quiet seemed to work—for a moment. Because evidently, the spider bite didn’t cure his clumsiness. A drop of blood hitting the hard floor alerted him to the cut on his hand, and he frowned up at the metal trim surrounding the door next to him. Darn sharp corners. When he heard nearly silent footsteps round the corner, Peter hid his hand behind his back. “Oh, hey,” he greeted as though he didn’t expect Bucky to be awake. “What’s up?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, apparently not one to beat around the bush. “What’d you do to your hand?”

Just as Peter scrambled to think of an excuse, Karen gently reminded him, **“There’s blood on the floor.”**

He glanced down at it before turning his attention back to Bucky. “Uh, it—it’s just a scratch?” Though it would heal soon enough, he could tell it was more than a scratch; it stung, for one thing, and it bled a little too much. But really, it was nothing important—not nearly as dire as getting shot, for example.

“Let me see it,” Bucky demanded lightly as he held out his right hand.

Peter shifted his weight. “It’s fine,” he insisted. “Honest.”

“Kid, I’m pretty certain Stark would have me locked up if I ignored you getting a tiny papercut, let alone a cut that might need stitches.” Maybe Peter hadn’t been as quick to hide the injury as he thought—unfortunate. Bucky’s tone left no room for argument. “Let me see.”

Yeah, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Praying that his empty stomach slowed down his healing factor, the teen hesitantly offered his injured hand, a little surprised at how deep the cut actually was. Had he stuck to the corner on accident as he climbed down? He added that to the list of things he needed to be more careful about. “It’s… really not that bad.”

Snorting incredulously, Bucky took his wrist and dragged him into the kitchen, where he grabbed a wad of paper towels and pressed them against the wound. Peter hissed. “You need stitches,” the man pointed out.

Peter squirmed as he resisted the urge to pull his arm away. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Sure, Bucky was a super soldier and the teen never properly tested out his own strength, but he had surprise on his side. And whether he had strength on his side or not, Happy _did_ make a point of teaching him self-defense techniques that’d help him make a break for it. If nothing else, he could smooth over whatever complaints Tony might have if he found out about this.

His earlier statement about not wanting to stand out could be used to argue both sides; after all, running would be suspicious but maybe not as damning as super healing. Debating his options, he chewed on his lip. “Just—I don’t want to bother anyone. It’s, uh, kinda three in the morning, you know? I don’t wanna wake—”

“I can give you stitches,” Bucky interrupted him. “No need to wake anyone else up. Wilson put together a nice first-aid kit to use.” As though sensing Peter’s desire to escape, he kept a firm grip on the teen’s wrist as he rummaged through the cabinet with his other hand. Once he retrieved the kit, he led the way to the table. “How’d you manage this anyway?”

“Mr. Stark didn’t child-proof this place well enough,” the teen mumbled. Then again, it was hard—and unusual—to take spider-kids into account when interior designing. Wasn’t the Compound built before Tony even knew about Peter to begin with? Maybe even before the whole vigilante thing started. Resigned to his fate, he crossed his free arm on the table and buried his face into his elbow.

Once the flow of blood slowed down, Bucky pulled back the paper towels and inspected the wound, and the teen couldn’t bring himself to watch—especially when he could feel his tissue slowly knit itself back together. He dreaded the thought that the man could be seeing it happen, which his slower-than-expected movements seemed to suggest. In the end, he didn’t hear any stitches being prepared, didn’t feel the prick of a needle. Paper crinkled, and he looked up just enough to see Bucky applying butterfly bandages to the wound. Not stitches.

 _He noticed._ Peter should have run when he had the chance, or better yet, not risked sneaking out here to begin with. Why couldn’t he walk like a normal person? Was it too late to talk himself out of this? When Bucky applied one final bandage overtop the others, the teen pulled his hand away and hid it behind his other arm. “Guess it wasn’t so bad, huh?” he asked, clinging to a shred of hope.

“Guess not.” Bucky sounded more thoughtful than shocked, and though Peter initially took that as a good sign, his dreams were soon crushed. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You _did_ heal from a bullet wound in a matter of days.”

Peter let out a dismissive snort. “Me? No, I—you’re confusing me with someone else.”

The man rolled his eyes at the weak coverup attempt. “I knew you reminded me of someone. Couldn’t put a finger who, though. ‘Whoa, you have a metal arm? That is awesome, dude,’” he proceeded to half-mimic, tone bordering between cheer and monotone.

Stupid Parker Luck. “Nope,” he denied, “still don’t see the resemblance.”

“Pretty sure you do.”

“Pretty sure I don’t.”

“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?” Peter’s face flushed at Bucky’s sudden question because yes, both Ben and May had mentioned that to him before. “You almost told Steve that you fought me before. You stopped before you said anything too incriminating, but it’s obvious in retrospect.”

Well, there went any plans of ever sleeping anywhere near the other Avengers. “Maybe I was referring to you fighting my friend,” he countered, but the fact that he couldn’t recall his exact words made him doubt himself. Despite having no leg to stand on, however, he refused to give up his argument. “’Cause I mean, I’m definitely _not_ Spider-man.”

“I just watched your wound heal itself.”

“Okay… maybe I’m a little enhanced,” the teen allowed, “but—I’m not cool enough to be Spider-man.”

Bucky scoffed, and really, Peter already knew how weak that point was; neither of them needed to mention it. “Doesn’t being Stark’s personal apprentice automatically make you one of the coolest people in the world? Top hundred, at least.”

A decent rebuttal. The fact that he was capable of even making eye contact with Tony Stark made Peter feel cool, so he couldn’t exactly dispute that. But he was definitely only cool by proxy. “Still doesn’t prove anything,” he said, remaining stubborn.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m sure there are so many enhanced punks from Queens.” Bucky leaned back in his chair as he raised a dubious eyebrow, though the slightest quirk of his lips indicated amusement.

A soft beep cut off whatever incoherent counterpoint popped into the teen’s head, and Bucky excused himself to check on the cookies and pull them out of the oven, setting the tray on the stovetop to cool. Peter’s stomach chose that moment to grumble again. “Those cookies smell great,” he commented as he twisted around to look at them.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” the man retorted dryly. “These clearly aren’t cookies.”

Peter couldn’t decide between glaring or pouting. Both at once seemed like a decent option. “I resent that. So what, do I have to trade my secrets for cookies?” Because he would. When he was hungry at three in the morning, he’d do just about anything for food, and it’d been so long since he’d eaten baked goods straight out of the oven.

“Kid, if you don’t want to tell me anything, then don’t. You can have cookies regardless.” Bucky set up cooling racks and waited for the cookies to set. At the moment, they were still too soft to move.

“You mean… you don’t care?” Peter picked at the bandages on his hand, shifting his weight. The wooden chair creaked softly as he fidgeted. “About, you know, me being a vigilante who people try to kill every day.”

“It _is_ a dangerous past-time for a literal child,” the man acknowledged, “but what I think isn’t going to stop you from being a reckless punk, is it? I’ve learned not to waste my breath.”

His shoulders sagging a little in relief, the teen nodded. Anxiety led him to overthink how the Avengers would react to finding out his secret identity, and given that there was already some tension regarding Spider-man’s presence at the airport, he doubted his age would make that any better; after all, from what he could tell, most of the team assumed the vigilante to be around college age. Young, but not _too_ young. He preferred it that way. “Yeah, I guess.”

Bucky used the spatula to test a cookie. Too soft, it split in half, and he slid the utensil under one part and tossed it to the teen before picking up and eating the other. Peter caught it without looking and shoved it in his mouth, humming at the taste. “That said, if you ever need help, call me. Cool people know when they need backup.”

“Thanks, Sergeant Barnes.”

“You know I’m not a sergeant anymore, right?”

Peter fumbled. “You’re a sergeant in my heart.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his face scrunched up in regret. Okay, _that_ might just be the lamest thing he’d ever said. The only thing that could save his dignity was FRIDAY _not_ having a protocol to record his embarrassing moments. With a groan, he remembered that Karen was still active and most definitely recorded it. Before he could say anything else stupid, he removed the earpiece, placed it back in his watch, and switched his AI to standby mode. Bucky raised a questioning eyebrow. “AIs exist to document my shame, apparently.”

“I’m sure that’s the entire reason Stark made them.” The man snorted as he turned his attention back to the cookies. Simple chocolate chip—but so warm and soft and most certainly the best thing Peter tasted in weeks. Almost inaudibly, Bucky hummed in contemplation. “He gave you access to FRIDAY?”

“What? No. FRIDAY controls like, the entire Compound and a bunch of other stuff. I doubt anyone else has access to her. I mean, not in the same way Mr. Stark does.” Peter tapped the screen of his watch, recalling that he hadn’t introduced the two properly when he had the chance. “This is Karen. Say hi, Karen.”

 **“Hello, Sergeant Barnes,”** the AI greeted, her voice coming from the speaker.

“Hello,” Bucky returned, and recognition flickered in his eyes.

Peter switched her back to standby mode. “You can tell the difference because FRIDAY is Irish and Karen sounds like a suburban soccer mom. Which is why I named her Karen. Uh, I haven’t quite perfected the design yet, so leaving her on wears down the battery.” Compressing all the complex technology in his suit that ran Karen into a single, compact watch—well, it took time, but he was determined. More than likely, he’d end up modifying a web-shooter for his right wrist to help support the programming. “It’s a work in progress.”

Before he could launch into rambling on the subject, he noted Bucky’s odd expression. “Stark’s more of a caretaker than I thought,” the man commented, almost in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” the teen stumbled over his words, his face heating up, “he likes to—likes to pretend otherwise, but his heart’s full of, like, marshmallow fluff.” But he didn’t dare think of Tony as anything more than a mentor because—curse his Parker Luck—he tended to lose his father figures. Rather violently, at that. He didn’t know if his heart could handle that again.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Please don’t tell him I said that,” Peter added quickly, to FRIDAY as much as Bucky. “And—please don’t tell anyone about, uh, Spider-man. I mean, I feel bad asking you to keep secrets for me, but…”

Bucky began transferring the cookies to the cooling racks. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re the Spider-kid,” he promised, almost exasperated.

Peter made a face. “Spider-man. Are you and Mr. Wilson incapable of saying Spider- _man_?”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Rolling his eyes, Bucky waved the spatula at the teen, who pouted in return. “I refuse to call anyone who still eats off the kid’s menu a _man_. Doesn’t matter if you can eat five of them in one sitting.”

“And Cap gets senior discounts. As it turns out, we have heroes on both ends of the spectrum.”

Bucky snorted out a laugh. “Seems that way.” Once it was filled, he picked up the rack and carried it over to the table, and Peter wasted no time in snatching another cookie. “Gotta say, I’m a little surprised you still want to be my friend after the whole airport thing.”

Whether that was mere self-deprecation talking or he genuinely thought his actions at the airport were worse than, say, Steve or Sam’s, Peter couldn’t quite tell. “I’ve had worse days.” He shrugged. “Besides, I—well, I kinda understand. Not about all the Hydra brainwashing stuff, but, uh,” debating the best phrasing, he gestured towards the man’s left arm, “not trusting your own strength?” Bucky raised his eyebrows but didn’t interrupt. “I mean, I’m really strong, right? ‘Cause of the spider bite. And that’s cool and all, but—I could hurt someone pretty easy if I slip up on controlling that strength.”

“So you always hold back,” Bucky concluded, metal fingers twitching as he schooled his expression. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re so fond of those webs.”

Restraining people without the risk of knocking them around too much—yeah, the webs certainly came in handy for that, among other things. To think that they’d end up so versatile; after all, Peter only came up with the original idea as a means to keep himself from falling. Not before hitting the ground too hard once or twice. “Yeah, basically. And, well, you and Cap always seem so confident about interacting with others, which is cool. I guess… I’ve been trying to learn through osmosis?”

Well, Steve a little more so because he tended to be more affectionate, and he couldn’t recall ever seeing Bucky touch anyone with his metal hand, but the latter did have super soldier strength in general. And he worked on mechanics, which surely involved the use of both hands. From what Peter heard—largely from Steve’s stories—he was rather good at it too. Bucky nodded as he grabbed a cookie. “It gets easier over time.”

“That’s what I’m hoping.” Peter chuckled softly. “Really freaked me out in the beginning. I was afraid to touch anything for awhile. And I stuck to random stuff. It’s kind of a miracle that no one realized I was different.” For the most part, at least, given that Ben picked up on his lack of asthma and fragility pretty quickly. But despite all the people who claimed Peter couldn’t keep secrets, he kept the big one under wraps until Tony came along.

The man smiled, no doubt imagining what he described. And yeah, in hindsight, the image of him trying to pry textbooks off his hands _was_ pretty funny. “Being a spider kid sounds tough. What happened to you, anyway?”

“Oh. I got bit by a radioactive spider. A little over a year ago now.” Shifting his weight, Peter crammed two cookies in his mouth—at this point, less for the sake of filling his stomach and more to keep himself from talking. Based on Bucky’s sympathetic expression, he likely knew about the recent anniversary that passed; after all, the teen told a few people about it, one of whom was the man’s closest confidant. “It was… a rough time.”

Somehow, admitting that felt a little less embarrassing than Peter thought it would. Maybe because Bucky was no stranger to loss and guilt, so he didn’t have to worry about ostracizing himself—even though they’d never had any particularly emotional discussions. Bucky sometimes became a little distant when Peter asked about the past, but that was as close as they came. Even though their life experiences were worlds apart, however, Peter felt like they might be able to understand each other.

At least a little bit. In some regards.

“I bet,” Bucky murmured. Peter wondered what he must be thinking about, and while he’d normally brush that sort of thing off because it seemed rude, the contemplation was far better than the images flashing through his own head. Instead of looking down at his own hands—the ones that often appeared far too red—he focused intently on Bucky’s metal one, his eyes tracing the grooves and gold trim. Smooth, pristine, unstained. Which, he realized belatedly, was a little ironic. “You okay?”

Peter flinched. No, no, this conversation had turned towards the subject that kept him up at night, the one that gave him more nightmares than being crushed by a building did. And no, no, he didn’t feel good about it at all. In fact, his lungs were screaming at him, but he didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until Bucky reached out to place a hand on his forearm. His chest ached, both literally and figuratively, as he shook his head—a frantic motion.

“Hey, hey.” Bucky used his thumb to rub soothing circles against the teen’s skin. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.” Peter shook his head again. He definitely did _not_ want to tell anyone about—about _that_. “Alright, that’s fine. Absolutely fine. What’s that one movie you really like? Star War?”

“Star Wars,” Peter corrected, his weak voice cracking, “plural.”

“Yeah, that. Do you want to watch that while we finish off these cookies? If we take too long to eat ‘em, we’ll have to share.” Once the teen nodded, Bucky grabbed the cookies and led the way into the living room, and upon settling down—Peter closer than he’d normally sit—he addressed FRIDAY. “Ceiling, can you please put on Star War?”

Peter almost laughed as he amended, “Star _Wars_. A New Hope, specifically.”

**“Of course, Peter.”**

***

Bucky dozed off at some point during the movie, which Peter mostly noticed due to the absence of the occasional shoulder pat or hair ruffle. When Peter woke him up, he immediately offered the watch the next part of the trilogy, but it was close to dawn and the teen wanted to do something else. “Have you ever played Jenga?” he asked.

The fact that Bucky had, in fact, not played Jenga was immediately declared an abomination that the teen sought to fix at once. A couple minutes into the game, Bucky glanced around the tower at him. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah.” Peter smiled. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that your heart’s full of marshmallow fluff too.”

“You better. Us tough guys gotta keep up our reputations.” His soft chuckle and lopsided grin didn’t make him look very tough, but hey, who was Peter to judge?

Peter soon decided that winning at Jenga made him feel way cooler than dodging balls in gym class—though his boasting led to a wooden block being thrown at his head. He dodged that too.


	9. cool, yeah.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony invites Michelle and Ned to the Compound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back, this time with a semi-functional outline! Thank you all so much for the comments and support; it really means a lot to me that you enjoy this, and I hope you continue to!
> 
> I posted [a one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20260504) that acts as a prequel to the Peter/Michelle in this fic, and while reading it isn't totally necessary, there is a reference to it in this chapter that'll make more sense if you do.
> 
> Enjoy! <3

“Oh, Mr. Stark,” as the two entered the common room, Peter recalled something he’d intended to bring up earlier, “can you tell Happy that he doesn’t need to come pick me up an hour early? It’s getting weird.”

Tony shrugged, nodding in acknowledgement of the few team members—Sam and Clint playing a game, Steve and Bucky watching them, and Wanda and Vision off to the side—who looked up at them. “Maybe he’s just trying to beat the traffic. Can’t blame him for doing his job.”

Peter offered a smile and a wave before rolling his eyes at the comment. “Yeah, sure,” he allowed, “except that he uses it as an excuse to go visit May—while she’s _busy_ at _work_ —and then ends up being late to pick me up. Which is _not_ his job.”

“Is Stark’s head of security making a move on your aunt?” Clint asked, glancing away from the heated card game.

“Ew.” Peter’s face scrunched up, and then, for good measure, he repeated, “ _Ew_. Don’t say it out loud.” Because saying it might make it real, and—not that May wasn’t allowed to date and be happy because he didn’t have a problem with that part, but with _Happy_ of all people? Not that there was anything wrong with Happy, but—ugh, this whole thing was just too _weird_.

Hiding his amusement behind a snort, Tony assured, “I’ll be sure to pass on the message. Any other requests before you go?” It was a school night, after all, which meant that the teen was more or less on his way out after an afternoon in the lab.

“There is another thing, actually.” More serious than before, Peter cleared his throat. “When I get murdered, can you make sure the case remains unsolved?”

“When?” Steve echoed, concern lacing his voice.

The billionaire stared at Peter for a long moment, cocked his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes closed. “Okay, I have some questions and comments,” he said tersely. “First of all, _why_ do you assume you’ll be murdered? Second, why do you want your murder to be unsolved? And third, there’s no way in hell I’m outliving you.”

Peter scrambled for an answer that didn’t include vigilantism. “Uh… I live in Queens?”

Sam played a card. “Kid, doesn’t Queens have a historically low crime rate? In comparison to other boroughs, at least, and that’s ignoring the Spider-boy.”

“That doesn’t make it impossible.” Peter shifted his weight. “Plus… plus I’m Mr. Stark’s intern and know all of you, which makes me, like prime kidnapping-for-ransom real estate.” Tony frowned, but before he could respond, the teen continued. “And MJ likes unsolved murders. Is why. And—I wouldn’t want you to, but when you’re on your death bed or whatever with like a day left to live, we can put you under cryosleep, and then—many years in the future, hopefully—when I get murdered, you’ll be unfrozen and have a day to use all your power and resources to make sure my case never gets solved. It’s perfect.”

“You want to get murdered so that a girl will like you,” Sam summed up, shaking his head in disbelief. “Kids these days.”

Peter bit his lip. “Huh. When you put it like that, it does sound pretty weird.”

At best, Tony appeared to be nursing a sudden migraine—quite possibly regretting his decision to keep a teenager around. Which was fair enough. “There are so many things wrong with that I’m going to have an aneurysm just processing it. I’m not having an aneurysm, am I?” he asked, turning to Steve and checking for any blood that might be leaking from his nose.

Steve almost looked like he wanted to be amused, but his brows pinched together in concern regardless. “Peter, you’re joking, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all going to get old and die of natural causes like normal people.” Hopefully, at least, though Peter knew by now that such privileges weren’t a given—but it was a nice thought. To think that he wouldn’t be missing anyone else, and that other people wouldn’t be missing him. “But somehow, asking MJ out like a normal person sounds _way_ scarier than getting murdered.”

Tony chose that moment to reroute the conversation. “Anyway, how come I’ve never met these friends of yours? Especially this MJ.”

“Michelle,” Peter corrected on instinct, only to swallow thickly at the billionaire’s raised brow. “Uh, her—only her friends call her MJ, so… And, well, I guess ‘cause we only really hang out when I’m up here, so you’re just never in the same place at the same time.”

“You can invite them over here,” Tony informed him, snapping his fingers as though to confirm how brilliant the idea was. “We can have a party, even.”

The teen blanched. “But—that’s embarrassing.” His friends and the Avengers in the same room together just sounded like a recipe for disaster, and while he’d never accuse the team of trying to embarrass him—well, he worried they’d do just that. Or vice versa. Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Peter held up his hands to stop him. “Not that you’re not super cool and all, but I have… I have delicate teenager emotions, Mr. Stark.”

Tony, genius billionaire philanthropist, was quick to come up with a fix to the—somewhat imaginary—problem. “If you’re worried about Wilson telling everyone you get cranky without juice boxes, I’ll just kick him out for the night.”

“Going to a basketball game,” Sam considered, “sounds far more enjoyable than hanging out with a bunch of teenagers.”

“Three,” Peter muttered. _A bunch_ made it sound like he had more than two friends.

“I could always invite your class to Stark Industries for a field trip,” Tony offered as an alternative.

Crossing his arms over his chest with a huff, Peter turned to face his mentor. “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, I will quit this internship and you’ll never see me again.” After giving a hard stare to reinforce his point, he let his shoulders slump. “But… if you’re sure it’s okay, I can see if Ned and MJ want to come over.” Ned would quite possibly pass out from sheer excitement, of course, but he didn’t know what to expect from Michelle—whether she’d be interested or critical or anything else. “But, uh, fair warning that MJ loves conspiracy theories, so if she interrogates any of you about any… it’s not my fault.”

“Guess that means I’m not invited,” Bucky mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Steve—and Peter’s enhanced ears—to hear, to which the soldier offered him a sympathetic smile while the teen forced himself not to react.

Clint, on the other hand, just grinned. “She sounds like fun. I’ll be sure to invite Nat.”

Because of Michelle’s fondness for strong women who stood up for themselves, Peter had no doubt that she’d at least get along with Natasha and Wanda, and making a new friend could be good for both of them. Especially the latter, since he knew she didn’t get out to spend much time with people—those who weren’t either teammates or targets, that was.

And he could hope that Michelle didn’t ask Steve about the helicarriers. That was roughly the extent to which he’d ever heard her talk about the Avengers.

“It’s a plan, then.” Tony clapped his hands together, and Peter watched the holograms pop up in the lenses of his sunglasses. “Does this weekend work?”

“Um, no. Ned’s older sister’s in a musical at her college, and opening night is this weekend, so we’re all going there to see her. But the weekend after next should be fine.” And it was one Peter’d be at the Compound anyway, so he didn’t have to cut into his scheduled patrolling time. It worked out as perfectly as something like this could. “I’ll call them on my way home, I guess. Happy’s probably waiting for me now, so…”

“Bye, Peter.” With a warm smile, Steve started off the wave of farewells. “Have a good day at school tomorrow.”

Tony slung his arm around the teen’s shoulder as he led the way out to the car. “It’s been awhile since I’ve thrown a good party,” he mused. “What do you think, kid? Ice sculpture, gold plates, fireworks?

 _Normal,_ Peter hoped. _Something normal._

***

 

 

> **[to: MJ] hey MJ, weekend after next, do you want to come over to the compound with me?**
> 
> **[from: MJ] The Avenger’s Compound? Why?**
> 
> **[to: MJ] just for the funsies. you know, to meet everyone, have a good time. if you want.**
> 
> **[from: MJ] Fine. If I can’t find anything better to do.**
> 
> **[to: MJ] awesome!!!**

***

 

 

> **[to: Ned] hey, wanna come to the compound next weekend?**
> 
> **[from: Ned] dtfyguioulk**
> 
> **[from: Ned] really? for real? like, really for real?**
> 
> **[to: Ned] yeah, i’ll show you the lab and everything**
> 
> **[from: Ned] this is the greatest day of my life and i’d like to thank you for this moment, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart and soul**
> 
> **[to: Ned] no problem, just don’t pass out**
> 
> **[from: Ned] no promises**

***

By some great miracle, Peter managed to talk Tony out of doing anything too extravagant, and he sighed in relief upon walking into the common area to find little more than some balloons and colorful streamers decorating the walls; he could not, however, prevent Ned from mumbling _oh my god, oh my god_ under his breath on repeat, so he took solace in Michelle’s quiet disinterest instead.

The whole team—sans Bucky, but he wasn’t exactly an Avenger to begin with—waited for their arrival, spread between the living room and kitchen, and Tony was the first to greet, “You guys must be Ned and Michelle. Make yourselves comfortable, and there’s food if you’re hungry.” Plenty of vegetarian options too—Peter made sure of that.

Michelle gave a polite nod but didn’t attempt anything more, whereas Ned gushed, “ _Oh my god_ , Tony Stark knows my name,” to which the billionaire smiled in amusement. Never mind the fact that Peter had to correct him on it a couple times over the past week, though the teen was fairly sure Tony only messed it up as a joke.

Gesturing vaguely, Peter glanced between his friends and the team. Or… his friends and his other friends? They were all friends, right? “Uh, I doubt I need to introduce anyone, so… yeah. Have fun?”

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Ever the gentleman, Steve offered his hand for them to shake—Michelle first, who was far more composed than Ned who gripped the soldier’s hand far tighter and shook it far longer than socially normal. “Peter’s told me a lot about you.”

“Did he tell you I’d ask about the helicarriers?” Michelle inquired despite Peter specifically requesting that she not. Well, he’d done so without any expectation of compliance, nor would he demand she listen.

Fortunately, Steve appeared more amused than anything else. “Something to that effect, yes. I don’t mind explaining the parts that aren’t classified.”

Michelle quirked an eyebrow. “The parts that the public already knows, in other words. Sounds thrilling.”

“I’m hungry,” Peter announced as a way of excusing himself from this particular conversation; despite his temptation to lead the subject away from conspiracy theories, the Avengers were adults who could take care of themselves, and they _did_ still invite her over after Peter warned them what to expect. So it wasn’t his fault. He snuck into the kitchen while the rest of the team introduced themselves.

Clint, naturally, had a question of his own. “So, who are your favorite Avengers?” He glanced towards the kitchen. “Yours too, Peter.”

As Ned launched into a breathless ramble about what he admired about each of the Avengers—Peter worried that he might actually pass out—Michelle responded promptly, “Scarlet Witch,” she offered the smallest of smiles towards Wanda before shifting her attention towards Natasha, “and Black Widow is a close second.” Then, she looked at Ned. “This year would be great.”

His rant came to an abrupt halt, and he spluttered for a moment before blurting out, “Spider-man.” At any other moment, Peter would be happy to hear that, but there was one tiny issue with his statement.

One that Tony was all too quick to point out: “Spider-man isn’t an Avenger. He turned down my invitation.”

“Then…” Ned scrambled for a second choice. “Captain America, because you—” Clearing his throat, he made eye contact with Peter—a meaningful glance. _Because of Steve’s resemblance to Ben_ , but Ned didn’t know whether or not that was okay to talk about; more than anyone else, he knew Peter’s sensitivity to the subject. His uncle’s death was, and possibly always would be, an open wound. “Because you’re super cool and stand for freedom and all. And our principal’s grandfather served in the Howling Commandoes, which is also really cool.”

Peter may or may not have failed to mention that fact to Steve. “Is that so?” The soldier smiled. “I’ll have to stop by and visit him one of these days, then.”

“Since you’re not a fugitive anymore,” Michelle suggested with a shrug, “maybe you could come in as a guest speaker. Like the PSAs, but real life.”

That comment invited an interrogation—because evidently, the PSAs were Steve’s well-kept secret, and for good reason. In the wake of the destruction, Michelle meandered into the kitchen—nonchalant as possible because cool people didn’t look at explosions—grabbed a carrot, and bit into it, coming to stand next to Peter. “Hey,” he greeted despite having just ridden in a car with her for two hours—and been in class together for the eight before that.

“Hey,” she returned. A moment of silence passed before she handed him a carrot. “I’m guessing you didn’t tell them about the PSAs.” If the others’ surprise and demand to see said videos were anything to go by, yes, she was very correct.

Peter fidgeted with the vegetable momentarily then ate it all in one bite, laughing a tad nervously. “Yeah, I, uh—figured that if I ever needed Captain Rogers to do something for me, it’d make for good blackmail material. So thanks for that.”

Her lips quirked up. “I’m sure you can figure something else out.” With a glance over her shoulder, she added, “Though I get the feeling you wouldn’t have to blackmail any of them into doing you favors.”

“Peter,” Steve called in an attempt to redirect the conversation—and save himself from further embarrassment from Tony, who was currently scouring the internet for the videos. “You didn’t answer Clint’s question.” That managed to steal the billionaire’s attention, along with everyone else’s.

 _Great._ “Uh.” Shifting his weight, Peter shoved a few more carrots in his mouth to delay his response. “I don’t wanna say mine,” he mumbled in response to the expectant stares he received.

“I personally feel as though the answer’s obvious.” Tony waved his hands with dramatic flair, head high with premature pride. Peter wondered idly if he’d be so pleased about _anyone’s_ high opinion of him or if the teen’s approval in particular meant a lot to him. “Might as well save the rest of you from embarrassment.”

Well, Peter figured he was saving _someone’s_ feelings by refusing to answer. “Yeah, I mean—Mr. Stark did save my life once.” Or twice. Tony gave him an odd look— _Did you just reference something that happened when you were Spider-man?—_ and the teen picked up another carrot. “At Stark Expo 2010,” he explained just as Clint opened his mouth to ask, and Rhodey instinctively groaned. “I may or may not’ve been that one dumb kid who almost got shot by a Hammer Drone.”

Tony squinted. “The one that thought having a cheap plastic mask and some toys meant he could fight a huge robot?”

“Yeah. Small world.” How fitting, really, that Peter ended up being the intern of the person who saved him years ago, but he supposed becoming a hero—or vigilante, rather—himself made that a little inevitable. “It’s not my fault that I was eight and stupid.”

“Is being fifteen and stupid any better?” Michelle asked innocently, to which Sam snorted out a laugh. “I didn’t realize someone who cries at Seussical would be capable of trying to fight a drone.”

So much for discretion—Peter had been _certain_ that no one noticed. Face flushing, he attempted to defend his pride. “I was _worried_ about the _Whos_.”

“Yeah, MJ,” Ned supported. “A person’s a person no matter how small, and I’ll have you respect that. If anything, it just speaks to the skill of the actors who were able to evoke such an emotional response.” And Peter wouldn’t mention it, but Ned totally cried too.

“Gotta say, kid.” Sam looked equally confused and impressed by the turn of conversation. “That was a smooth way of dodging the question. Are you trying not to hurt Stark’s feelings?”

Sniffing in offense, the billionaire retorted, “Maybe he’s trying to spare Cap’s.” Which was also a fair enough point; after all, out of the team, Peter probably considered himself closest to Tony and Steve, and that turned out to be a little ironic—given that his father was a scientist and his uncle a decorated military veteran. Maybe Peter had a type.

“Thor,” he blurted out. If he didn’t settle this issue now, they’d be hassling him about it for the rest of the night. Now they’d just get to tease him for something else. _C’est la vie._ “Thor’s my favorite Avenger.”

Suffice to say, he received a decent number of surprised looks—aside from Bruce’s _yeah, makes sense_ nod. Despite Peter’s suspicion that the Baby Monitor Protocol sent Tony an alphabetized list of his most embarrassing moments, which included doing impressions in the mirror, the billionaire appeared the most shocked. “Pete, you’ve never even met the guy.”

Regardless, Thor held a special place in Peter’s heart. He’d much rather die than admit it, but seeing the god on television was the first time he’d ever felt attraction to a man—in an innocent twelve-year-old way of wanting to hold his hand, naturally—and realized that hey, maybe he wasn’t straight. “Yeah, but… that’s the point, right?” he attempted. “I can’t pick favorites out of people I know.”

“Who’s your favorite person in general?” Rhodey asked.

The answer was prompt and obvious: “May.” Out of everyone living, at least. If Ben or his parents were still alive, of course Peter wouldn’t be able to pick a favorite between them. “Which—I think that means I have to fight Happy. Or we can mutually respect each other’s admiration for the same fantastic woman, but… that doesn’t sound like us.”

Three or four people at most fully understood that comment; the others had little to no insight into the dynamic between Peter and Happy aside from the latter being his designated chauffeur. But some others might know Happy well enough to know how he’d feel about that perceived demotion.

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, good luck with that, runt.”

“I can show you some moves,” Natasha offered at the same time.

“Personally,” Vision spoke up for the first time, thoughtful as ever, “I find it heartwarming that Mr. Stark cares enough about Peter’s safety to have his head of security escort him.”

Except that if anything happened en route, it’d inevitably be Peter who protected Happy. Happy was plenty capable, of course, but he wasn’t quite an enhanced teenager who could sense danger and stop trucks with his bare hands. Then again, who knew? Peter wasn’t infallible, and Happy had years of experience he lacked.

But that didn’t matter at the moment. As he dropped his gaze to stare at the snacks laid out on the table—and consequently the hands of those who grazed on them—he wondered if his face would end up being this warm the entire night.

Michelle, his savior, prevented that comment from evolving into a full conversation. “I would also fight Happy,” she decided, “if he gives Aunt May any modicum of grief.” Ned nodded his agreement. “Aunt May is the best and deserves to be treated as such.”

And if May heard this, she’d be flattered but humble and maybe brush off her awesomeness as her doing what anyone else would. But Tony didn’t help the situation. “If I wasn’t already engaged—”

“Oh my _god_ , Mr. Stark,” Peter cut him off with a groan. Almost on instinct, he glanced towards the theory list, only to remember that he’d hidden it away somewhere for the sake of sparing some of his dignity. And partially for the same reason that Bucky uninvited himself from this party. “Can we _please_ talk about something else now?”

“Alright, fine.” Tony held his hands up placatingly, but not without rolling his eyes at the few soft chuckles. Looking between Ned and Michelle, he asked, “So how did you all meet each other?”

With a one-shouldered shrug, Michelle explained, nonchalant, “Academic Decathlon. Nothing that exciting.”

Ned perked up as he told his story. “Peter and his uncle saved me from some bullies in middle school. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

“Oh?” Lips pulling up in a smile, Natasha leaned against the counter. “Now that’s a story I’d like to hear.”

“It’s, uh…” Peter cleared his throat almost inaudibly, self-conscious of the eyes trained on him. “I knew these guys ‘cause I’d seen them pick on some other kids at school, but the teachers didn’t listen when I tried telling them—something about having no evidence and their parents insisting they were perfect angels. Usual excuses, I guess? Then… Ben and I were at the park, and I saw the same guys bothering Ned. So… I took pictures, and Ben politely told them to—uh, knock it off. School listened after that.”

Though the story warranted a positive reaction, Peter’s stomach still twisted into knots, and he couldn’t quite tell whether it was embarrassment from praise that went in one ear and out the other or nerves from talking about Ben—a combination of both, most likely. When he did look back up, he noted the mix of pride and sympathy in Steve and Wanda’s eyes, since they were the only two on the team he’d mentioned his uncle to before.

Tony puffed out his chest, swelling with satisfaction— _yeah, that’s my pupil_ written on his face. “That’s incredibly noble of you, Pete.”

“S’what anyone would do,” Peter mumbled, fidgeting with the edge of the counter.

“Kid,” Sam rolled his eyes as he grabbed a drink from the refrigerator, “there’s a key difference between what people _should_ do and what they _would_ do. Trust me, not anyone would stand up for someone like that—especially anyone your age, and especially for a stranger.” The airman tossed a juice box to Peter, then politely handed one to Michelle and Ned each.

“He’s right, you know,” Steve added.

Ned nodded vigorously. “Yeah, Peter. Do you really want to argue with the _Avengers_ , dude?” he stage-whispered.

Inevitably, Peter would end up doing just that—be it in months or years or whatever. But he preferred not to think about that. “Fine, sure, I guess it was… kinda cool.” _Ben did way more than me,_ he resisted the urge to add.

Natasha patted his shoulder as she stepped around him to pick up a couple pieces of celery. “You’re a good kid, Peter,” she told him, and Peter could see Ned struggling between squealing and restraint. “And you have good friends.”

Smiling, Peter glanced between Michelle and Ned. “Yeah, I do.” He rocked back on the balls of his feet before clapping his hands together. “So is it, uh, time for dinner?”

Everyone began breaking into smaller groups as they acquired food and sat down to eat. Some observed quietly, most of the attention still focused on Peter’s friends; somehow, it didn’t surprise the teen when Michelle and Natasha fell into conversation about famous executions—with some complaint that other people were trying to eat—and Tony boasted to Ned about technology he’d created. Peter could almost laugh at the way his friend repeatedly forgot to breathe.

“So Michelle,” Bruce began in an attempt to change the subject, probably hoping it had nothing to do with death or violence, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“An investigative reporter,” came her prompt answer. Which made plenty of sense, based on her keen interest in questioning what people thought was the truth. But just when Peter’s face finally returned to its natural color, Michelle added, “And Peter’s going to take pictures for me.”

Peter choked on his food, spluttering out incoherent denials as he tried to regain his composure. “That’s not—I mean—I don’t—uh, May was just being silly. I’m not…”

“He is quite good at that, isn’t he?” Tony pursed his lips, considering his only experience with _Peter_ and _photography_ hadn’t been terribly pleasant. “If the photo in the paper is anything to go by.” Which wasn’t even Peter’s work, but he couldn’t exactly point that out without explaining _why_ Ned had been the one to take it instead of him. It’d taken quite a bit of patience to teach him how to use the camera properly since it wasn’t just an easy digital one.

“Yes, there is that,” Michelle returned neutrally, and Peter didn’t want to try and decipher her tone. She sounded almost… dubious? Maybe she just thought it was a bad photo—but in that case, why volunteer him as her photographer? “He’s never shown me his work, so I’ll have to take Aunt May’s word on his skill. But we can work something out.”

“I haven’t—not in…” Peter stammered, blushing impossibly darker when Sam not-so-subtly nudged his arm. “I’m, um, a little rusty, so…” Because photography had been his and Ben’s thing—a hobby his uncle encouraged—and it seemed almost wrong to continue without him; he knew full well, however, that Ben would want him to, and with that in mind, he mumbled, “We’ll see, I guess.”

With a tense smile, he stood to walk to the kitchen, opening the door with the intent to grab another juice box only to linger for a moment. Conversation resumed, and while he half expected Tony or Steve to follow him, he got a minute to himself, which he used to focus on not hyperventilating or crying. And unfortunately, he knew that if someone did come over and ask him how he felt, he might just burst into tears. Not _bad_ tears, necessarily, but he certainly _felt_.

A couple minutes later, Michelle came in to grab more vegetables, standing by his side as she ate in silence. “You know,” she started upon swallowing a snap pea, gesturing around them, “if Flash knew about this, he wouldn’t be able to say a thing about it. The look on his face would be hilarious.”

Peter glanced around, tense, before leaning in and lowering his voice. “They don’t know about Flash. And they won’t.”

“So you’ll stand up for others but not yourself?” Fortunately, despite her scrutiny, she took the hint and followed his lead. “I’m sure any one of them would be happy to straighten him out.”

“Yeah, but Flash—he doesn’t matter, okay? He… he keeps people from taking me seriously, and it’s, uh, weirdly nice.” He bit his lip, shrugging halfheartedly. “I don’t like attention. Flash is annoying, yeah… and I like hearing you tell him off, so.” In his peripheral vision, he saw Tony stand up only for Rhodey to grab his arm and pull him back down, but he paid it no mind, far more focused on the way a smile tugged at Michelle’s lips, on the glimmer in her eyes. His mouth felt oddly dry. “So…”

“So,” she echoed, “I won’t say anything. For now, at least. And…” Staring down at her plate, she hesitated a moment before shrugging softly. “If you don’t want to take pictures for me, you don’t have to, but I… thought it might be nice. Maybe.”

His smile came so naturally that he almost didn’t register the movement. “No, it—it sounds nice.”

Michelle looked back up to meet his gaze, and after a lingering moment of silence, her eyes swept the living room. “I can’t believe you have the world’s greatest heroes wrapped around your finger,” she commented with a hum, only half-sarcastic.

“That, uh—that’s an overstatement, but it is—cool, yeah.”

“I’m still going to interrogate them about conspiracy theories.”

Softly under his breath, Peter laughed. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” After being teased so much, maybe he’d even find enjoyment in watching them squirm.

***

The next week, Peter decidedly ignored Sam’s addition of _lovesick puppy_ to the list.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Tumblr [here](https://koolwhipped.tumblr.com/) if anyone is interested. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day! ♡


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